


Dramione Drabblets

by Meltha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Challenges, Drabbles, F/M, Ficlets, dramione_ldws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 57
Words: 27,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meltha/pseuds/Meltha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stand-alone drabbles originally submitted at the LJ community dramione_ldws, all Draco/Hermione, various ratings, various challenges, from rounds 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, and 8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence Speaks Volumes

**Author's Note:**

> No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is made from this work of fanfiction.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds solace in the library -- just not in the books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 2, challenge 1: Leather and Librarians - 100-499 words, mentioning leather, taking place in a library. This drabble won the challenge.

Written for the round 2 challenge 1: Leather and Librarians - drabble must take place in a library and be 100-499 words. 

Draco took a deep breath of the thick, dusty scent of the Hogwarts library. To him it smelled like freedom. Crabbe and Goyle would no more darken the doorway here than they would leap off the top of the Quidditch commentator tower, and he could count on Pansy not showing up anywhere near books. Here, for a few precious hours, Draco had a respite from the shadows of the Dark Lord and his mission. 

But if he was being honest, part of the allure of the library was a certain Gryffindor who practically lived there. Sometimes the weasel and the Chosen One showed up, too, pelting one another with Chocolate Frog wrappers like baboons drunk on Firewhisky while Hermione tried to work. But soon they’d get bored and decide annoying her was more fun, and inevitably she’d lose her temper. 

“Stop it!” she’d finally scream in frustration, and Madam Pince would scurry towards them, her features contorted in rage at the noise. If Hermione was lucky, only Weasley and Potter would be punted from the library for being prats, but it was just as likely that she would have to leave, too. 

Tonight was one of those nights, and as Draco watched her go accompanied by her two brain-dead friends (he could sympathize), disappointment settled on him. In the library, there was a temporary, silent cease fire between her and Draco, and he admitted that between poring over arcane spells that might free his parents, his gaze drifted to her, curled over a book, a subtle half-smile on her face. Sometimes, he pretended she knew he was watching her, even that her smile was for him. 

Now that she was gone, the library’s silence became oppressive. Draco sighed deeply. Almost without realizing it, he wandered towards her empty table and the book she’d left behind. 

He picked it up and ran a finger over its leather binding, then sniffed it curiously. It was still warm from where she’d held it close to her body, and the subtle fragrance of her perfume, a blend of cinnamon and rose, clung to it. Gently, he stroked the cover, the soft feel of leather mimicking the texture of bare human skin. He wondered what she’d been reading, but the spine was too worn from age to read. Draco flipped the book open to the title page, and immediately a note penned in tiny handwriting slipped out. 

_D,_

_This ink is charmed to disappear in twenty minutes, just like the others I’ve left, but if you do find it, finally, (the word was underlined twice in what he thought was a rather impertinent manner) I’m in the Transfiguration classroom until 10:00._

_Yes, I’ve seen you watching me. I find I rather like it._

_H_

Draco stared at the note. His first thought was his father would kill him. 

But as he walked briskly towards McGonagall’s classroom, grinning like a lunatic, his second thought was he really didn’t care.


	2. Fairest of Them All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the Yule Ball, Draco's lies come back to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 2, challenge 2: Lies, Lies, Lies! Must be 250 words exactly and involve one or more lies. This one won the challenge.

“No,” Draco said.

Pansy’s mouth was drawn into a pout she probably thought was attractive but actually made her resemble a spoiled bulldog. Trying to distract her, Draco deftly twirled her across the dance floor. Maybe if she’d been less dizzy, she would have noticed he wasn’t looking at her or the pink atrocity she called a dress.

Hermione was absolutely glorious. He tried to muster some of the disdain he’d conditioned himself to think for four years, silently repeating the words tainted, ugly, and, most importantly, forbidden. But tonight he couldn’t lie to himself as easily as he could to Pansy.

Pansy had asked if he thought Hermione looked pretty. He’d tried for his best sneer and an insult, but all he could manage was that deceitful “No.”

Still, his girlfriend seemed satisfied, giggling in that insanely annoying way that made his gut crawl into his lungs. She tottered off with her friends for refreshments, and when Krum soon followed, Draco took his chance, slipping behind Hermione unnoticed.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. “I mean it.”

She turned and stared at him, and he knew she was waiting for the verbal equivalent of a slap. When it didn’t come, her face changed from surprise to uncertainty, then fury.

“Must you always make fun of me?” she said angrily. 

“No, I…,” he began, but she was gone.

It was the only time he hadn’t lied to her, but it was also the only time she hadn’t believed him.


	3. Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and Hermione meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 2, Challenge 3: Back to School - set after the events of the books

Attending a Triwizard Tournament again was strange. As a Ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Creatures, Hermione was checking the treatment of the manticore brought in for the third task. She had expected to feel disjointed in time, but she hadn’t counted on seeing Draco Malfoy again. 

His son Scorpius was school champion, and it was obvious not everyone was thrilled with a Slytherin representing Hogwarts. She could remember Harry’s turn at it, the nasty rumors when both he and Cedric were chosen, and of course Ron’s bullheaded jealousy that nearly broke their friendship. She supposed she should have realized then Ron was sometimes viciously selfish. When she’d been promoted faster than he was one time too many, he’d left for good in a huff. She was surprised to find that, while she missed him, the lack of his constant snide remarks gave her more relief than loneliness.

Then, today, as the families of the champions entered Hogwarts, she had seen Malfoy striding in, older but still thoughtlessly elegant. Astoria, his former wife, had long since disappeared to the Mediterranean coast with a wizard so wealthy he made the Malfoy fortune look like a handful of Knuts, so Hermione didn’t expect her to make an appearance. Neither did Scorpius, by his resigned expression when his father entered alone.

To Hermione’s surprise, Draco embraced his son and smiled. She’d never seen Draco smile before. Sneer, yes, but not a genuine, warm smile, and the answering grin from his son was equally real, though tinged by the embarrassment any teenage boy would feel at having his father publicly hug him.

“You’ve done well,” Draco said, his voice carrying to Hermione’s ears. “I’m very proud of your achievements, as you should be.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius said, glancing awkwardly at the flagstones. 

Hermione watched the boy introduce his friends, noting they were a mix of purebloods and Muggle-borns, yet Draco seemed perfectly fine with this. As the champions exited to compete, she saw Draco’s face shadowed with fatherly concern. 

Damn, she thought. When did he become a human being?

She walked towards him, curious enough to want to speak to her old enemy.

“Thought I saw you, Weasley,” Draco said without turning around.

“Granger,” Hermione corrected him. “It was never Weasley.” 

“Oh,” Draco said simply, facing her. “I don’t feel like trading insults just now.”

“We’ve outgrown that,” Hermione said, startled by his gray gaze that firmly held her own. “At least, I hope so.”

He nodded. Hermione suddenly realized the Great Hall was nearly empty, and she felt unsure how to make her exit.

“Accompany me?” he asked extending his arm. “I’m… on my own.”

She paused, remembering past hurts, but chose to grant absolution to this new, apparently improved version of Draco.

“I’m on my own as well,” she said, taking his offered arm.

As they joined the other spectators, she hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.

On the other hand, she thought wickedly, Draco always did have a nice arse.


	4. Let Them Eat Cake . . . Then Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's surprise party didn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 2, challenge 4: Happy Birthday Hermione: must take place during a suprise party Draco has planned for Hermione

Draco stood at the door of their flat, waving as the last guest disappeared into the lift. Immediately afterwards, his face fell from its plastered-on smile to a look of deep mortification. 

“Merlin, what a mess,” he muttered, shutting the door. 

Hermione was still in the bathroom, and from the sound of swearing mixed with the running tap, she wasn’t having any luck getting Hagrid’s vomit off her shoes. Apparently, part-giant stomach bile was impervious to magic. 

Draco looked at the scene of devastation. Three figurines were broken, his favorite chair had a gigantic smear of vanilla frosting on the seat, and the Potters’ youngest had somehow gotten ice cream on the ceiling. All of that would have been bad enough, but the true damage came from his insanely stupid idea of inviting his parents to Hermione’s surprise birthday party. 

Draco had hoped (stupidly, he repeated to himself) that after he and Hermione eloped his parents would eventually accept her. She had urged him to invite his mother and father for dinner soon, though he knew she suggested it because she could tell the estrangement was making him unhappy. He’d thought (stupidly, he silently repeated yet again) his parents would behave civilly since the party was in Hermione’s honor. In retrospect, he supposed he probably shouldn’t have lied to them by neglecting to mention the party at all and saying Hermione was out of town to get them there. 

“Stupid,” he said aloud as he cleaned the frosting off the chair. 

He couldn’t decide which was worse: his father’s look of pained resignation at sitting between Potter and Weasley or his mother’s comments about the cleanliness of the house, Hermione’s appearance, Hermione’s fashion sense, Draco being too thin because of Hermione’s cooking, and of course, Hermione’s lack of Pureblood decorum, all hidden under a veneer of hypocritical concern. 

At least his mother had been the one to sit in the frosting… not that he’d felt the need to tell her about the enormous stain across her bum. Good riddance. 

“I should have just taken her out to dinner,” he said, directing his wand towards the ceiling only to have ice cream land on his head. 

“It was a good try,” Hermione said as she wrapped her arms around him from behind, laying her head on his shoulder. 

“You know the best thing about this party?” he asked as he turned to give her an apologetic kiss. 

“No one died?” 

“No,” he said with a grimace. “That it’s over.” 

“Oh no, it’s not,” she said, smiling slyly. “There’s one more present to unwrap. My favorite one, as it happens.” 

“Is that so?” he said with an answering grin. 

“Yes, and it should be in the bedroom in a few seconds,” she said, disappearing through the door. “Coming?” 

A moment later, her shirt hit him squarely in the face. 

“Most untidy. Someone needs a birthday spanking,” he called out, following her. 

Yes, he thought, this party was a very smart idea.


	5. Subtlety Is Relative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is not having a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 2, challenge 5: Cliche challenge - must make use of at least one Dramione cliche (here, Ho-mione and a closet scene)

Snape’s Defense Against the Dark Arts exams were usually boring, but Goyle had a brilliant plan. Unfortunately, he was Goyle, and the words “Goyle” and “brilliant” do not generally belong in the same sentence. His chosen jinx made not only Potter’s quill catch fire, but everyone else’s, too, resulting in a shrieking Lavender leaping into Weasley’s lap in terror. 

“Granger,” Snape said, jaw twitching dangerously, “quickly retrieve more quills from the second floor supply closet or it’s fifty points from Gryffindor.” 

Rather than arguing with him about the injustice of penalizing Gryffindor for a Slytherin prank, she took off in a blur. Minutes passed, but she did not return. The combination of restless students and an irate Snape spelled potential homicide. 

“Draco,” Snape finally hissed, “get the quills. NOW!” 

Despite himself, Draco fled the room. The supply closet door was shut when he arrived. He pulled the knob, but it was locked. 

“Granger?” he yelled at the keyhole. 

He heard a familiar voice swear quietly. Interesting… 

“Leave!” 

“No,” he drawled lazily. 

“I’m going to kill those two when I get out of this,” Hermione mumbled. 

Forget interesting; Draco was downright intrigued. 

“Back away from the door,” Draco said, chuckling. “One, two… Alohomora!” 

The door promptly burst open. 

“The quills are right there,” Hermione’s voice said from the shadows. “Take them and go.” 

“Not so fast,” he said, shutting the door. “The only way out is past me, and I’m not moving. Show yourself.” 

Quiet sobbing came from the corner. For six years he’d been making her life hell, and she’d never once cried in front of him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like it. 

“Hermione,” he said, surprised he’d used her name, “what’s wrong?” 

“Fine!” she yelled, stepping suddenly into view from behind a supply shelf. “Look!” 

She was almost unrecognizable. Her shoes had become high-heeled stiletto boots with marabou feathers at the cuffs. Above them black fishnet stockings disappeared under an extremely short robe. Its neckline plunged dangerously over a chest that could double as a flotation device. Heavy make-up plastered her face, including blindingly red lipstick, a Knut-sized beauty mark, and false lashes so enormous he wondered if her eyelids were strong enough to blink. Stick-straight hair as platinum blonde as his completed the effect. 

He should have been laughing hysterically while taking pictures to send as Christmas cards. Instead, he felt ill. 

“Who did this?” he asked. 

She scuffed guiltily at the floor, and he noticed a sweets wrapper lying there. 

“Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Beautifying Bon-Bons?” he read in disbelief. “You ate this rubbish?” 

“They swore it was subtle,” she said miserably. 

Fred and George knowingly making a girl who was like their kid sister resemble a tarty circus freak brought the sick feeling back. 

“Why would…,” he began, then remembered Lavender leaping into Ron’s lap. “Oh. The Weasel.” 

She blushed but didn’t deny it. 

“But this stuff must wear off,” he said. 

“Yes… in three hours!” Hermione wailed. 

“I’ll bring the quills back and make up some story to tell Snape,” he sighed in resignation. “Stay here until you’re normal.” 

“Thanks,” she whispered. 

He glared at her bizarre, overly sexual appearance, grabbed the quills, and turned the doorknob. 

“Weasley’s a fool for not seeing what’s in front of him, and you’re another for thinking you needed those sweets in the first place,” he said, then left, closing the door.


	6. Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione have an uneasy truce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 2, challenge 7 (I skipped 6): Four Hundred Words about Fall - challenge must be about autumn, not mention Halloween, and be exactly 400 words

“I don’t really know you,” Hermione said, shattering the silence. 

Draco smiled lazily, and she was reminded of a tiger, lithe and beautiful, but ultimately dangerous if he chose to be. The comparison made her uneasy, and he seemed to sense her discomfort, his features becoming less smug. 

“What do you want to know?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” she said, staring down at her hands, embarrassed and desperate to avoid the temptation of looking at him. “We’ve been meeting here for over a month, but I still don’t know anything about you.” 

“Such as?” he said, leaning against the tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest that had become their rendezvous point. 

Neither could explain why they came here, only that the time spent in one another’s company was necessary in the insanity of their slowly dissolving world. Usually, they simply sat, silently watching the lake, content in knowing they weren’t alone. It was strange, she thought, depending on his presence so much but not being able to define it or the change that had crept over them since the beginning of autumn. 

“I don’t know,” she repeated, sounding frustrated. “Silly things. Whether you like mornings, if you have a pet, what your favorite color is, just… things.” 

He sat beside her, and she let herself look at him again. 

“I loathe mornings, Mother has a Persian cat named Hebe, and my favorite color is brown,” he said. 

Hermione couldn’t help laughing. 

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No one’s favorite color is brown,” she said, still giggling. 

“Mine is,” he said firmly. “It’s the color of autumn leaves.” 

“But they’re… dead,” she said, confused. 

“I prefer to think of them as completed,” he explained. “They change the world around them. They can’t stay forever, but before they’re gone, they have a chance to fly.” 

“I suppose,” she said, glancing at the canopy of brown above them, but suddenly his face blocked her view. 

He’d never touched her before, and the single finger he drew down her cheek sent shockwaves through her. Draco rested his hand gently under her chin, turning her face towards him and looking into her eyes with an expression that was less like a predator and more like prey. 

“As brown as leaves in autumn,” he said, holding her gaze. “Always my favorite.” 

And when he kissed her, Hermione felt like she was flying.


	7. Burning Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco does Hermione a most unusual favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 2, Challenge 8: Gossip in 100 Words - exactly 100 words about a rumor. This drabble won the challenge.

“Today I reveal Miss Granger’s scandalous depravity, writes Rita Skeeter, special correspondent, during the months she illicitly lived in a tent with two boys, completely without a chaperone, far from the prying eyes of decent wizarding civilization! Today's Prophet has an excerpt from my scintillating new book, _Hermione Granger: A Lascivious Life_!”

Hermione stopped reading the newspaper as her eyes blurred with angry tears. The old bat had always said she would pay her back for blackmailing her, and it seemed she'd made good on her threat. Just as she was about to roll over and spend the day sulking in bed, she suddenly heard a familiar eagle owl tapping at her windowsill. 

“Great. More trouble,” she moaned. "I don't need Malfoy's gloating on top of everything else!"

However, the message wasn’t what she expected.

_Granger,_

_Don’t give the sow the satisfaction. Watch for tomorrow’s paper._

_Draco_

Next morning, the Daily Prophet’s headline read, “Unexplained Warehouse Fire Incinerates Skeeter’s Books!”

Hermione wondered how exactly one should phrase a thank you note for arson.


	8. Unthinkable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has seen too much, and Hermione comforts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 2, challenge 9: Something Wicked This Way Comes - needed to be centered on horror.

The crackling flames from the fireplace spread dancing light over Draco’s face, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his skin as he rested. Somehow Hermione could tell he wasn’t asleep, even though his eyes were closed. With a deep sigh, she nestled closer to him.

They had been seeing each other secretly for months, at first only for him to give the Order reports on Voldemort, his switch of sides happening when he realized his parents’ lives were in danger and that Dumbledore was their best hope for protection. Hermione barely tolerated his presence in the beginning, but as their sixth year progressed, her feelings toward Draco mellowed, then slowly became deeper. When it dawned on her that she was falling in love with him, she wondered if she was losing her mind. Later that night, though, when they’d met—when he’d smiled as he said her name and his hand had almost nervously touched her fingertips while he gave her the information about the Death Eaters’ latest projects—she had decided that if insanity felt like this, she’d happily wind up in St Mungo's.

That had been a month ago. Now the Christmas holidays had just ended, and after two weeks of wondering what was happening at Malfoy Manor and never receiving word, though of course he couldn’t have owled her without arousing suspicion, she’d been worried. But their first day back, he’d managed to slip her a note in McGonagall’s class, asking her to meet him tonight in the Room of Requirement. 

She had been expecting their usual conversation about tactics and strategies, followed by talking about the little things in their daily lives and the soft feel of his lips on hers as they continued getting to know one another. When she’d opened the Charmed door, the sight that met her was remarkably different: the blazing fireplace, the almost frighteningly enormous bed, and Draco, wheeling to face her, his features strained.

“Draco, what on earth…?” she began.

“I barely survived that place,” he said, shuddering.

“Your home?” she asked.

“It’s not home anymore, only a prison,” he said angrily, then his face softened. “The only thing that kept me sane was the thought of you. I need… please, Hermione. I need you.”

Without her realizing it, his arms had already come around her, and his kiss left her with no questions about what he needed. She was nervous, frightened even, but she couldn’t deny him when he was so desperate and when, in truth, she’d already realized he had her heart. She let him lower her to the bed, and what followed, if she were honest with herself, was a lot less pleasant than the romance stories usually said, and Draco hadn’t seemed able to restrain himself from being rather rough.

But now that it was over and she could look down at his quiet face, a wave of love wrapped around her, and she reached out to the face on the pillow next to her, gently touching her fingers to his cheek, and his eyes opened.

His red eyes opened.

Hermione told herself it was a trick of the firelight, but as he saw the expression on her face, he sat up slowly, almost sinuously, and his smile was cold.

“Well, well, I do believe comprehension is starting, Mudblood,” he said.

As she watched, too horrified to scream, his features began to change. His body elongated, the arms and legs stretching like rubber as his hair shot backwards into his skull, leaving it smooth. The color drained from his skin, making it white as death, and his nose transformed into nothing but two thin, reptilian slits. His eyes, still glittering like rubies, looked as close to amused as eyes could in so inhuman a face.

“What’s the matter, Mudblood?” he said, bringing a spider-like hand toward her in a mockery of her own earlier caress. “Disillusioned, are you?”

She screamed and threw herself against the wall, not caring about her nudity or the laughter pouring from him in a shrill, wintry peal.

“Your wand,” he said deliberately, pointing to a table on the other side of the room, “is there. If you attempt to reach it, I shall be forced to kill you in ways you will find too horrible to contemplate.”

“Why?” she asked, sickened beyond tears.

“Still the logical, precocious little Prefect, bursting with curiosity,” he said, reclining on the bed, utterly at ease. “The reason is simple. Lord Voldemort does not tolerate betrayal. Highly emotional states make Occlumency very difficult to maintain, and when I happened to mention my desire to make an example of Harry Potter’s Mudblood friend, dear Draco’s reaction was extremely telling. This was the very worst thing I could do to him as a suitable punishment, though it will not be his only one, and now, you will serve me.”

“I’d rather die than serve you,” she spat at him.

“I am certain,” he continued smoothly, “that you would, save for one small problem. If you do not do exactly as I say, Draco will wish his death would come more swiftly than I will be willing to give it to him. Do you understand me?”

She said nothing, still staring in horror at him.

“I’m sure you do,” he said. “Such a clever Mudblood you are.” 

Many miles away, in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, Draco stared hopelessly into the darkness, while the dim shapes of Luna and Ollivander looked on.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” said a dreamy voice somewhere beside him. “You never meant to harm her.” 

He said nothing. There was no consolation for him, no absolution. He knew it was his love that had doomed her.


	9. Hobbitly Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elopement of two prominent Shire inhabitants has all the townsfolk gossiping. After all, they're such a very odd pair... Crossover with LotR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3 warm-up challenge: Draco and Hermione as hobbits.

The Shire was abuzz from the Green Dragon to Farmer Maggot’s mushroom patch. No one had ever heard the like before, and as was the case with most Shire gossip, it was undoubtedly embellished rather more than less in its telling.

“Who ever heard of a Bracegirdle and a Proudfoot eloping, eh?” Fatty Bolger said, taking a puff of pipeweed. 

“Aye,” one of the numerous Boffins replied, “and both so odd for their families. That Hermione, for example! Who’s known a Bracegirdle that loved books?”

“Oh, her father did, but only to borrow and not bring back,” the Gaffer replied. “He bothered Mr. Bilbo with that for years, but I think he more liked the look of the things than what was in ‘em.”

“Yes, and that Draco Proudfoot is just as strange a character. Platinum hair on his feet, plus all that talk about how his parents were on the side of that Saruman foreigner in the last war,” Bolger said, shaking his head.

“You can’t blame him for his parents’ choices,” the Gaffer said. 

“Perhaps,” Frodo said from a shadowy corner, “we should leave them to their affairs and keep to our own.”

A general mutter of hard feelings spread around the room at the insult on the favorite Hobbit sport of rumor spreading, but still, a Baggins is a Baggins, and even if strange in his ways, the name commanded enough respect to still wagging tongues, at least until he left the Green Dragon for his melancholy walk home when all and sundry would feel comfortable discussing the topic with renewed zest.

“Hey, look! Here they come!” Fatty cried as he saw the newlyweds strolling down the road and towards the door. “But who’s that with them?”

The moment the door opened, silhouetting the admittedly attractive couple (though a few Hobbit maids had been know to cast aspersions on Hermione Bracegirdle’s hair, which was remarkably curly even for a Hobbit), a loud cheer arose and a call for drinks to celebrate the nuptials of the pair rang out, for if there is one thing Hobbits love more than gossip, it’s any excuse for drink, food, and general merriment.

“Thank you,” said the young Draco, who was barely in his tweens and rather young to be settling down, “and I shall join you in drinking a health to my bride, but someone must see to our best man, as he’s not of a size to join the party inside.”

With curious glances all around, the Hobbits crowded to the door to see the great boots of an extremely tall person outside.

“What’s that?” the Gaffer said embarrassingly loudly. “One of them Ents Samwise talks of?”

“Nah,” came a deep voice. “I’m jus’ Hagrid. Could do with some ale, though.”

Finding this a satisfactory response, the feasting continued well into the night. Granted, Frodo looked with some trepidation at the gold ring that rested on Hermione’s hand, but perhaps it was best not to inquire too closely into his reasons.


	10. Brief Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione are stuck in the middle of _Moulin Rouge_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3 second warm-up challenge: Draco and Hermione in a scene from _Moulin Rouge_. Also needed to use lyrics from three different modern songs. Lyrics from "Love Stinks" by the J. Geils Band, Frankie Valli's "Can't Take My Eyes off You," and "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell.

Draco shook his quill in irritation, then sighed. He knew it wasn’t the poor ink he was using that was keeping his words from flowing onto the paper. No, he thought as he gazed across the room to the sleeping form of Hermione, it was definitely not the ink.

She sighed in her sleep, though it may have been a delicate cough on closer consideration, then rolled over once more, the vision of a Pre-Raphaelite angel.

“Love stinks,” Draco said quietly to himself… or perhaps he sang it. There often didn’t seem to be a difference to him anymore. “I just can’t take my eyes off of you.”

Hermione seemed to have heard his words, as her eyelids fluttered open and the steady gaze of her brown eyes bored into him accusingly.

“I always feel like somebody’s watching me,” she said, her words laced with sadness though her tone was nearly cruel. “On stage, backstage, with the duke… I don’t need that from you.”

“Then I won’t,” he said, though he knew he was lying.

She regarded him a long time in silence before nodding and lying back down on the bed, the moonlight making her skin glow like diamonds, and her breathing became regular once more.

“I’d stop watching you,” he said to no one, “if only I could.”

A very astute observer might have noticed the smallest pause in Hermione’s breathing, but it might have been nothing at all. Just as Draco was about to give up writing for the day as a bad job and slip into bed, the air was broken by a shrill declaration from the corner.

“Will you quit dancing around each other! It’s obvious you’re both in love!”

Both Draco and Hermione sat up at once, goggling at the thing that had spoken.

“I thought you’d got the speaking charm off it,” Hermione said.

“I thought I had,” Draco said. “Then again, you can’t really change the nature of an object.”

“And what nature is that?” Hermione asked.

“The sitar can only speak the truth,” he said, then smiled at her as she curled against him. “Say, remind me to stop by Pomfrey’s tomorrow to get you that Pepper-Up Potion, will you, love?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, and they both fell into a peaceful, trusting sleep.

Unfortunately, Frank was still living in their foot… whatever that means.


	11. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is put on the spot by his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 1: Is This a Kissing Book? - 100 word drabble using the phrase “As you wish” and a confession of love, inspired by _The Princess Bride._

“What precisely do your have to say for yourself?” 

Lucius Malfoy glared at his son. Draco took hold of Hermione’s hand, not sure whether it was to comfort her or himself, and the gentle squeeze of her fingers gave him fresh courage.

“I’d say I’m in love, Father,” he replied bluntly.

A sniff of disbelief met his words.

“You have a choice,” Lucius said. “Bid a permanent farewell to this Mudblood or to your family.”

Draco looked into his father’s hate-filled eyes.

“As you wish,” he said sadly, and putting an arm around Hermione, they Apparated, leaving Malfoy Manor behind.


	12. Excellent Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's reputation still seems to be ruining things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 2: Women Like Looking at a View; Men Don't - 100 words, A Room with a View, and an exotic location. This drabble won the challenge.

“But I have a reservation!” Draco yelled. 

“Capri is crammed with wizarding tourists for the Blue Grotto gala,” the clerk said. “There’s nothing left.”

“Nothing for a Malfoy, you mean,” he sneered. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Try leaving,” the clerk said rudely.

“You can sleep on the sofa in my room,” offered a familiar voice behind Draco.

“But the gossip at the Ministry…” 

“I’ve faced worse. It’s 23B,” Hermione said, giving the clerk a withering glare. 

Draco watched her go upstairs, then gave the clerk ten Galleons.

“A pleasure, sir,” he said, watching Draco fairly run after her.


	13. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has his own regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3 challenge 3: There's a Man Who Could Have Been Anything - 100 words, a funeral, and regret

Years had passed since he cried. The last time was the day of Charity Burbage’s murder. When the Dark Lord dismissed them, Draco went to his room and sobbed, fist jammed in his mouth to muffle the sound, thinking what it might be like to see Hermione killed. Not until then had he admitted the truth to himself: that he loved her. 

Now he was one more anonymous face in a crowd beside a fresh grave, reading her tombstone. 

Hermione Granger-Weasley  
1979-2021 

He’d never told her, and he realized he was shedding tears over his foolish pride, his greatest regret.


	14. Transposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has always been good at twisting words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, Challenge 4: It Seems to Me That Love Is Everywhere - 250 words and use of the phrase "to me you are perfect."

The Hogwarts Express puffed onwards as the meeting of new prefects came to a close.

“That’s about all,” said the Head Boy, Cornelius Kettletop, a Ravenclaw, “except we need someone with decent handwriting to make up a list of the new prefects and hang it outside the Great Hall. Any volunteers?”

Hermione’s hand went up, as usual, but Draco’s raised arm caught Kettletop’s eye first, probably from the sheer shock of the offer.

“Fine, Malfoy,” he said cautiously. “Have it done by dinner tonight.”

Draco nodded, and as the compartment emptied, he remained behind, pulling parchment, ink and quill from his bag. However, if anyone had been watching closely, the look of mischief on his face would have been obvious.

After the start of term feast finished, the students exited the Great Hall, walking past the announcements tacked on the notice board. Ron drifted over to the list of prefects, wanting to see his name, and immediately let out a howl of laughter.

“Nice spelling, Malfoy!” he yelled at Draco, who had been watching the scene.

Hermione immediately read the parchment and frowned. 

“I should have expected you’d purposely bungle mine,” she said to Draco, and before he could say a word, she stomped up the stairs, glaring furiously. 

Draco read the list of names. Each was followed by the word “prefect,” except for Hermione’s. He had intentionally misspelled her new title, hoping she might understand his hidden meaning. 

“It’s no mistake. To me, you are perfect,” he said quietly.


	15. The Final Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is subjected to the Dark Lord's test of loyalty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 5: They'll Never Make It in Time! - set in the Ministry; use of horror or suspense

This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. When I was small, Mother and Father used to tell me bedtime stories about how wonderful things would be when the Dark Lord returned and the wizarding world would take over, how we would be all but worshiped. He was supposed to take away everything bad and make the whole earth pure once more. I used to fall asleep with a smile on my face and dream lovely things.

But the reality is a nightmare. So much blood everywhere, on my parents’ hands, on mine, and I couldn’t see the difference in color when it belonged to a Mudblood or when it was my own. Everyone bleeds red. 

Everyone bleeds. 

Father brought me to the Ministry today. I don’t think even he knew why. Reading between the lines of the Daily Prophet had taught me what to expect: terrified half-bloods and Muggle-borns being brought in, the new statue lauding pure-blood superiority, and Moody’s eye mounted on Umbridge’s door. But knowing didn’t prepare me for the reality of it all as I followed in Father’s wake down the corridors. Fear filled every breath of air like a poisonous cloud. The Dark Lord had created his own heaven, just as my parents told me he would, but it was a devil’s paradise.

Father brought us to a door at the end of a twisting corridor, and I knew trouble must be ahead because he was perspiring. Father sweats only when he cannot control his baser instincts, like fear. It unsettled me more than anything I had yet seen.

“Remember, Draco,” he said, and his tone shook the smallest bit, “you have nothing to fear from him if you have kept faith with your pure-blood ancestors and avoided anything that would shame them.”

I nodded. My godfather had taught me Occlumency well, and I was undoubtedly about to be subjected to yet another of the Dark Lord’s attempts to probe the thoughts in my mind, thoughts of her, her eyes laughing in sunlight, the strikingly beautiful lines of her face when I infuriated her, the deep brown of her incorrigible hair. He had thus far found nothing, and I would make sure he found nothing again. 

My father opened the door to the Dark Lord’s throne room. It was just as I had pictured it would be, but there was one difference, and as that inhuman face lit with a horrific smile of satisfaction, I knew I was in hell. 

I screamed. I screamed until my throat was raw, and my eyes would have forced themselves from their sockets if they could.

Her head, eyes staring sightlessly, was mounted above his throne.

“I see Miss Parkinson was right to suspect your infidelity after all, Draco,” the high voice said mockingly. “You have my congratulations. It is rare to lie successfully to Lord Voldemort for so long, but in the end he always knows.”

Tomorrow I die, or so he has said, but in truth, I am dead already.


	16. Pleading His Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has come wooing Hermione, but how will Hugo take it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 7 (skipped 6) - I Think I Killed a Duck! - an epilogue compliant Draco/Hermione from Hugo's POV

“You’re going to marry my mum, aren’t you?” 

I never thought Draco was a fool, but if he honestly thought I didn’t see this coming a mile away, which his dropped jaw and suddenly stark white face certainly suggest, I might have been wrong. Even if I hadn’t realized a long time ago that the two of them were pretty serious, today was a pretty big tip off. Going to a Quidditch game, sundaes at Goyle’s Ice Cream Emporium, and then Butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, and all of it with just him and me? It wasn’t exactly subtle. The only stepfather/stepson bonding moment he missed was offering to buy me a new broom.

Right now, though, watching him squirm a bit is almost as much fun as a Nimbus 2030… heavy emphasis on the “almost.” It appears the collar of his robe has gone rather tight as well, because he keeps pulling on it.

“Ehm, about that,” he says, looking so desperately uncomfortable that I’m nearly pitying him, but not quite. “I realize this isn’t an ideal situation for you, I suppose.”

“No,” I say bluntly. “Ideal would be if Mum and Dad had never fallen apart in the first place.”

Draco clears his throat a little violently. 

“I can see how that would be your preference,” he says, trying a little too hard to be accommodating. Frankly, on Draco, bending over backward to please somebody looks very out of place, unless it’s for Mum.

My mind just went to a place that is going to require Muggle therapy and a session with a Pensieve. Stupid hormones.

“Look, I’m not a kid anymore,” I say.

“Yeah, you’re fourteen, practically an adult,” Draco says, but the words sound just a tad sarcastic.

“I know what happened with Lavender,” I admit, and that makes him really pause. 

“What exactly do you know?” Draco asks, eyes narrowed.

“I know Dad was shagging her, Mum found out, and that was that,” I say, keeping my gaze on him level. “I found out for sure from one of her kids at school two years ago, but I had figured it was something like that anyway.”

“Rotten way to find out,” Draco says, and he seems honestly repulsed for me. “Which one was it, the girl with that ridiculous name I can never remember or the son who looks suspiciously like old Cornelius Fudge?”

“It was Rhododendron,” I say, wrinkling my nose in disgust before going on. “That’s beside the point. What I want to know is exactly why you want to marry Mum.”

“I love her,” he says immediately, no hesitation at all, and then, when I say nothing, he adds, “Really!”

“You used to hate one another,” I point out, taking another sip of Butterbeer. “What happened?”

“I’m not really sure,” he admits, then takes a sip of his own drink. “After Astoria left for India and took Scorpius with her… well, things weren’t great. Hermione wasn’t happy either, and we rather bonded over that. Things sort of went from there, I suppose.”

I take a long look at him. It’s not normal to see Draco this nervous about anything. I’m kind of enjoying it, but I suppose I’ve had enough fun.

“You’ll take care of her?” I ask.

“Absolutely.”

“You’re not going to back out of this and break her heart?”

“I swear to you, I would never hurt her.”

“And you’ll stop referring to Dad as ‘that freckle-covered baboon’s arse’?”

“I promise,” he says, then he gives me a conspiratorial grin. “At least while you’re within earshot.”

“Fair enough,” I say.

I put out my hand, and we shake on it. Draco can’t stop grinning. Neither can Mum whenever he’s around, and that’s the real reason I’m glad they’re together. It’s good to see her smile again.


	17. Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione was taken from Hogwarts in her seventh year and received worse than a sentences of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 8: I Must Be Crazy to Be in a Loony Bin Like This - St. Mungo's, insanity, and 100-499 words. This ficlet won the challenge.

The closed ward was never quiet, but the disjointed noises became a different sort of silence, one characterized by lack of meaning rather than lack of sound. It was disorienting, as though if a well person stayed long enough, the sanity would be leached from them like a vibrant riverbed turned to baked mud in a cruel drought.

Draco knew that was what had happened to her. What a perfect plan it had been, to rob the most dangerous rebels of their strongest weapon: Hermione’s intellect. The Carrows, on Voldemort’s orders, had pried Hermione from Potions in seventh year and sent her here, claiming any Mudblood who believed herself to be a witch must be deranged, that this was the kindest thing they could do.

Kind. There was no kindness in any Death Eater, and none in their leader. If they had known she was guilty of loving a pure-blood, they both would have been killed, but that might really have been kinder. Potter had eventually destroyed the Dark Lord, but not before countless lives had been taken. She was one. 

Draco hated St. Mungo’s, the smell of decay that hit him the moment the doors opened, but still he came, hoping each time that there would be the smallest improvement. He steeled himself outside the fourth floor door, then opened it.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, ignoring the tumult around her, looking out the window at London below. 

“Hello,” he said, sitting in a chair opposite her, wondering if she would notice him. 

She didn’t move, not even her eyes, but she did say, “It’s raining.”

Draco looked out the window at the clear autumn sunlight, but he didn’t correct her.

“Feeling any better?” he asked, replacing a faded yellow rose in the vase on her bedside table with a fresh one.

She said nothing, but eventually she turned towards him, her eyes vacant as empty fishbowls.

“You’re covered in it, you know,” she said, “the blood. It doesn’t ever really wash off, does it?”

She looked at her own hands and began rubbing them roughly, nearly hurting herself, until Draco took them gently in his to make her stop.

“There isn’t any on yours, Hermione,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing except love me, I suppose.”

“Love thy enemy,” she said, and she lifted her palm to his face, touching his cheek. 

For a moment he thought he saw a glimpse of her, the real her, behind her eyes. He put his hand on top of hers, entwining their fingers, and the ruin of who she had once been was too much for him. A tear ran down his cheek.

“It’s raining,” she said again as her fingertip traced its track over his skin before she lapsed once more into silence, drawing into herself and staring at nothing at all. 

“It’s always raining, love,” he said as he ran a parting hand over the tangle of her hair, then left once more.   
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	18. Claire de Lune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things just aren't going well for Draco with Hermione . . . sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 9: Spontaneity Has Its Time and Place - use of the movie _The Sure Thing_ , the Knight Bus, a road trip, and banter

“I don’t believe you got us thrown off the Knight Bus,” Hermione grumbled as she and Draco Malfoy of all people hoofed it down the road in the dead of night.

“You actually wanted to stay on there with that barmy old hag singing the best of Stubby Bordman all night long?” he said, grimacing.

“You were dreadfully rude to poor old Mrs. Purkiss,” Hermione said, though secretly she couldn’t deny that her singing had been about as annoying as hearing Ron whine about food through most of their horcrux hunt.

“I’m hungry,” Draco announced, and the unfortunate coincidence nearly cost him Hermione’s fist in his eye.

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before Stan Shunpike bodily threw you off the bus!” Hermione said menacingly.

“That skinny runt didn’t lay a finger on me, and if he had, I could have trounced him with my wand arm tied behind my back!” Draco yelled.

“The road grit on your backside says otherwise,” she said with a smirk that was remarkably similar to his own.

“Studying my bum, Granger?” he asked, leering at her

Her only response was to huff loudly and stride faster down the road, though inwardly she was very grateful it was too dark for him to see her blush.

“I still don’t see why Shacklebolt wouldn’t let us transport this stupid package by owl or broom,” Draco said, looking at the box he was carrying.

“If you hadn’t fallen asleep at the meeting, you would have heard the Minister say that the potion is extremely sensitive to altitude. If the owl or broom flew too high, it would explode, leveling anything in a one mile radius,” she explained, sounding annoyed.

Draco looked with a good deal more respect at the rather small cardboard box.

“And what’s in here again, exactly?” he asked.

“Boomslang liver,” Hermione said slowly in precisely the same tone as a playgroup teacher.

“And that’s worth delivering from London all the way to Liverpool because it does what again?” Draco asked.

“No idea,” Hermione said with a shrug. “It’s something the Unmentionables need, and we have to be certain it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Several minutes passed in begrudging silence, the only sound the dull thud of their shoes against the pavement. The Knight Bus had been about ten miles from their destination when Shunpike had gotten fed up with Draco’s perpetual insults and punted the pair of them… which had, of course, been Draco’s plan all along. For three months he’d been trying to work up the nerve to have a minute alone with Hermione so he could build up the nerve to ask her out for a bit of dinner, but somehow, seeing her stomping angrily along the road and muttering to herself about an “idiotic, self-involved co-worker with no sense of control,” he felt this wasn’t the best time.

He had just been admiring her silhouette by moonlight from behind (and perhaps doing a bit of bum checking on his own) when she suddenly toppled forward, landing flat on the ground with a small cry.

“Hermione!” he said, racing the few feet to her side and crouching next to her. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on walking tonight, and my high heel snapped, you nitwit!” she said. “Now help me up!”

“No,” he said flatly.

“No?” she said, staring up at him.

“No,” he said firmly, “not unless you agree to go to dinner with me.”

“Are you mad, Malfoy?” she said angrily. “We loathe each other!”

“No we don’t,” he said, sounding a bit hurt.

“Oh, alright, I don’t loathe you. You aggravate me, I annoy you, and we generally fight like a pair of… well…”

“Randy alley cats?” he supplied helpfully.

“Yes! I mean, no!” she said, and this time the blush was extremely clear even through the covering of road dirt.

“You mean yes,” he said with a grin, then offered her a hand up.

“Oh, fine,” she said, taking his hand. “One dinner, and not at the Three Broomsticks. I don’t fancy a night of watching you pant after Madam Rosmerta.”

“She’s close to sixty, Hermione,” he said. “I think I can control myself.”

She gave him a look, and he tipped his head, considering.

“Okay, she’s extremely well-preserved, I grant you, but still…,” he said.

“Somewhere else, or it’s no deal,” she said.

“Agreed,” Draco said reluctantly. “Now let’s deliver this thing before we wind up blowing a pit halfway to hell.”

“Yes, by all means, let’s save the tour of Hades for our first date,” she said, and as she leaned on his arm to keep from limping with her broken shoe, Draco thought what a lovely night it was for a stroll.


	19. If the Shoe Fits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco needs to help Hermione with some rather odd research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 10: There's No Place Like Home - must use ruby slippers

Draco tried to ignore the embarrassing fact his wife had been sorted into Gryffindor. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, passing over her unfortunate youth. Bizarrely, Hermione still retained vestiges of pride in her former house, though he’d always thought Gryffindor’s color scheme made it look like a tacky American hamburger restaurant, but he held his tongue… mostly, but the spangled things now sitting on the table in their entry-hall were a step too far.

“Neville said they came out of the Sorting Hat,” Hermione explained. “They must possess hidden properties it thinks we’ll need in an upcoming battle.”

Draco poked the ruby slippers with his finger. His wife brought home the oddest things from the Ministry.

“They’re tacky,” he said bluntly.

“I think they’re rather nice,” Hermione said, looking affronted. 

“I don’t get it, though,” Draco said. “I thought the hat only spewed stuff that the founders left lying about.”

“Well, yes,” Hermione admitted, carefully not looking at him.

“But Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were the birds,” he said. “Why’d they choose rubies? Shouldn’t it have been sapphires or citrines or something?”

“Not exactly,” Hermione said, blushing. “Read what’s on the soles.”

Draco flipped one over and stared at the tiny print.

“’Property of Godric Gryffindor?’” he read, mouth hanging open. “He was a drag queen?!”

“It’s not that shocking. Quit being so intolerant,” Hermione said, but the way she was biting her lip suggested something else was wrong. 

“Out with it,” he said.

“You’re the only one in the Ministry with the right size foot for us to find out what they do,” she said in a rush.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Draco yelled. “I didn’t do anything evil enough for this!” 

“Please?” Hermione asked meekly, eyes pleading.

Draco sighed, slipping his feet into the atrocities of footwear. His only consolation was that if Weasley or Potter ever heard about this, he could shut their gobs with a few interesting facts about their dear house founder. Then again, considering that Salazar Slytherin had been Gryffindor’s dearest friend and constant companion, maybe he should keep this strictly to himself.

Besides, he thought as the shoes glittered, they were really rather fetching.


	20. Just a Little Wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione are at the pub when he suddenly gets An Idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 11: She Is Tolerable, I Suppose, But Not Handsome Enough to Tempt Me - required a mistaken judgment and Draco in a wet t-shirt

“I most certainly will not!”

Hermione could feel her face turning a truly impressive shade of crimson as Draco fixed her with a lascivious grin accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

“And why exactly not?” he said, the words taunting.

“You have got to be joking! I’m not going up there and… no!” Hermione said very loudly, wondering if it was possible for the blood vessels in her face to explode from blushing too much.

“Well, you’ve already got half the bar staring at you after that little outburst,” Draco said with a chuckle. “I don’t see what the difference would be.”

“It’s a wet t-shirt contest,” she said, saying each word slowly. “They’re the epitome of misogynistic male fantasies about women that reduce them to only those bits that they stare at anyway.”

Hermione pointed a finger at a twenty-something blonde prancing across the top of the bar and wearing a soaked pink shirt to the general applause and wild hooting of the very appreciative men staring up at her.

“The only thing missing is their tongues lolling out of their mouths like a pack of wolves,” she said, sniffing in distaste, but Draco still looked amused.

“You do realize you’re prettier than she is,” he said seriously. “You’d win this thing easily. Stop being so self-conscious.”

“I’m not being self-conscious! I just don’t want to do it!” she said, glaring at the men who were continuing their extremely enthusiastic whooping for the next girl. “Pigs.”

Draco shook his head and gave her a piercing look.

“You honestly think the only reason they’re reacting like that is because they’re male?” he asked.

“Well, of course! You wouldn’t catch women shrieking their lungs hoarse over some bloke in a wet button-down,” she said.

“You,” he said, smiling wickedly, “are entirely too prejudiced. I think I’ll have to disprove your theory over a little bet.”

“And what are the terms?” she asked as though she were driving a deal at Gringott’s.

“If I prove to you that women can turn into salivating, animalistic, hormone addled, blithering idiots just as easily as men do, you’ll do what I want you to,” he said.

“And if they don’t?” she said, crossing her arms firmly.

“Then I’ll do anything you want me to,” he said, then repeated with a particularly heavy emphasis, “anything.”

Hermione knew she shouldn’t give in on this one, that he must have something up his sleeve, but that last little word had been too much for her self-control.

“Fine,” she said, putting out a hand to shake on the deal, which he took in an entirely business-like manner and gave one swift pump before turning abruptly and walking towards the bar.

“He wouldn’t…” she murmured under her breath, a thought growing in the back of her mind, but she quickly dismissed it, assuming Malfoy pride would override any public displays of indecorous behavior.

Right about the time the DJ gave Draco a nod and started playing “It’s Raining Men,” Hermione realized that assuming anything about a Malfoy was always a risky proposition.

With a flourish of well-toned muscle, Draco vaulted himself onto the top of the bar in time with the first “Hallelujah!” of the song, grabbed a bucket of water, and held it high as he emptied it over his head, turning his pale blond hair to a dark honey color and catching the strobe lights of the club. His white cotton business shirt and tie were immediately soaked through, displaying the sharply defined contours of his chest, the material clinging to him like a second skin. 

He looked like the personification of sex. 

As he loosened his tie in time to the music, the originally stunned silence he was met with became a veritable orchestra of squealing, screaming, cat-calling soprano voices. He threw the tie into the audience, where it immediately caused a stampede of crazed women fighting over it, and to Hermione’s shock he broke into a brief bump and grind routine before she noticed a rather odd look cross his face. The women continued to push towards him in a tidal wave, their arms waving in abandon, clawing at his trousers and starting a chant of “More! More! More! More!”

“That’s it for tonight, ladies!” he called, jumping lightly behind the bar and exiting through the door to the kitchen quickly as the women groaned in disappointment.

A split second later, Hermione heard the soft pop of his Apparition next to her. She turned to fine him beside her, now wearing a completely dry shirt.

“I suppose you’ve won,” she admitted, looking with trepidation at the bar and taking a tentative step towards it, “and I don’t back out of a bet.”

“Are you out of your mind, woman!” he yelled. “That was the most degrading thing I’ve ever experienced in my life! Bloody creepy, that was. There is no way I’m letting you go up there!”

Hermione briefly considered arguing with him over whether or not he had the right to “let her” do anything, but then she realized that on this point she was in complete agreement.

“So we’ll call it even, then?” she said, sounding relieved.

“Not quite,” Draco said, putting an arm around her as he ushered her from the pub before anyone else noticed his return. “I recall the bet being specifically that you’d do what I’d want you to if you lost. You’ll still need to pay up, but only for an audience of one.”

“Really?” she said, returning his smirk.

With a happy sigh as they walked down the street, Hermione was glad to know that, win or lose, she was going to get exactly what she wanted tonight anyway.


	21. Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of battle, Draco hunts for what is most precious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 12: I Got a Bad Feeling about This One - needed to have a war setting, involve courage, be no more than 499 words long, and vaguely deal with _Saving Private Ryan_

Draco hated everything around him. He hated Hogwarts, its walls shattered, stones crumbling from their places like a child’s sandcastle being swept away by the tide. He hated the sounds of those dying and those mourning, a wailing that was hideous against his ears, a noise that he somehow felt would never end. Most of all, he hated the darkness of the night sky, completely starless, the thick clouds turning the moon into nothing but a vague, blurry smear of grey overhead. It was utterly useless for trying to see what was around him, making the world a series of endless grey figures as likely to be a tree branch or one of Hagrid’s insane pets as a human being.

The loud bangs and curses of battle had stopped for the brief respite as both sides were allowed to tend to their wounded. The silencing of the war made the cries of the injured all the more obvious and terrifying.

Crabbe was dead. Draco couldn’t, even now, call him Vincent, not even in his own mind. Draco had seen a great deal of death in the last year, far more than he had ever known possible, but never before had the victim been someone his own age. There had been rumors, of course, students who had “disappeared,” but actually to see someone he’d once considered a friend die, and in that nightmarish Fiendfyre of all things? No, he hadn’t been ready to see that. 

And it had served to remind him one more time that, yes, any of them could die: Father, Mother, Severus, even himself. 

Even her.

That was why, in complete disobedience to the Dark Lord’s direct orders that all Death Eaters should await further orders in the forest clearing where those disgusting spiders had once lived, Draco was instead circling around the lake and back towards the castle. He needed to find her. He didn’t want to explain to himself why. He didn’t want to think about the torturous dreams of her that had quietly waited in the back of his mind during the day only to send him screaming when he tried to sleep. The thought of what dear, dear Auntie Bella, the insane bitch, had done to her in the few hours she had been in Malfoy Manor made him recoil even now. 

As he walked, he passed groups of adults and students, some walking by leaning on one another, others lying on the ground, shuddering. Ginny Weasley was leaning over a seriously injured girl, speaking softly in a tone people used for those who needed consolation when hope was really gone. He squinted at the victim in the dim light until he was sure it wasn’t Hermione, but it gave him no comfort. 

He went on, almost swearing he had passed someone in the darkness even though no one was visible, until he reached the castle entrance. The silence inside was deeper somehow than it was outside, and he could tell why. He had entered the makeshift morgue of the resistance. He drew a shuddering breath as he realized he was in the very heart of the enemy’s camp. Everywhere he looked, there were people who would gladly kill him if given half a chance, and his death might provide a momentary balm for the pain of a lost loved one. He couldn’t blame them, but he had to keep looking.

Then, he saw a small cluster at the far end of the Great Hall, a group made very noticeable by their vibrant red hair, all clustered around a fallen figure he couldn’t see. The Weasleys were friends of Hermione. If something had happened to her, it might explain what they were doing in the hall of the dead. 

As he drew closer, though, he recognized one bushy-haired figure in the sea of red and let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Somehow, it was as though she heard it, for she looked up at him from across the hall, and he saw her deftly extricate herself from the group without drawing the least attention. In a few seconds, she was beside him.

“How dare you?” she whispered furiously under her breath even as she led him to a less exposed spot. “You have no right to intrude here!”

“Who was it?” he asked, his eyes still on the group.

“Fred, not that you’d care,” she said, but her voice sounded more tired than angry.

“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly.

She stared at him as though she’d never seen him before.

“Why are you here?” she asked, and he could tell it wasn’t just an accusation. She really wanted an answer. 

“Because I needed to know,” he answered honestly.

“Even if you got killed for your trouble?” she said, her voice half disbelieving, half confused. 

“There’s more than one kind of death,” he said. 

He looked around the Great Hall again, at the rows of dead adults and students, even that ludicrous Creevey boy, somehow looking even smaller and more fragile than usual, and the enormity of the war, the nearness of death pressed in on him. His gaze went back to her, and the look in her eyes told him she was still trying to understand.

He didn’t know what possessed him with the courage to place one swift, fervent kiss against her cheek, but she didn’t move, and it was enough.

“Truly, I am sorry, Hermione,” he said, “for so many things.”

He carried with him the picture of her standing perfectly still, watching him as he retreated back into the darkness, waiting for dawn to break.


	22. Botany or Anatomy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco really hates plants, but they apparently don't feel the same way at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, Grand Finale part 1: imagery from _It's a Wonderful Life_ , Draco's POV, and gratitude

Malfoys do not need help, obviously. That statement has been drilled into me since birth. In fact, I think it was embroidered on my baby blanket. What I wouldn’t give for that thing now.

You see, while none of my illustrious forbears might ever have required aid from anyone, I would also be willing to bet none of them had ever been trapped starkers inside a demented hydrangea bush. At least I think it’s a hydrangea. Sprout sent me to greenhouse ten to pick up a book she left here, and when I got here, this stupid plant jumped me, ripped my clothes off, and pulled me into its branches. In the process, my wand got knocked right through the glass wall, so I’m essentially helpless. This day can’t get any worse.

“Draco? Where are you?”

I stand corrected.

“Get out of here, Granger!” I yell. 

But it’s too late. She’s already noticed my robes thrown into the corner and, oh for pity’s sake, she’s looking at my pants hanging off the crossbeams.

“Are you… uh, alone?” she says.

“Just me and this extremely randy bush that’s molesting me!” I finally admit.

“That’s Hydrangealis Aphroditus,” she says, and there is definite snickering. “It must be coming into flower.”

“Will you just get out of here, you pervert!” I fairly scream.

“Considering the entire class is going to be in here in about five minutes, I think you’ve got a problem,” she says.

“You’re joking,” I say, going dead cold, and the stupid bush gives my backside a pinch in the bargain.

“No. I just finished my work sooner. They really will be right along,” she says, and she’s grinning at least as evilly as I ever have. “Ah, sweet revenge!”

But this? This isn’t funny. This is embarrassing and horrifying and the stuff of nightmares and… okay, there’s obviously only one thing to do.

“Hermione, will you please help me?” I ask, sounding as terrified as I feel.

The grin fades, and she taps her wand in her hand for a few seconds, considering. Then, thank Merlin, she Stupefies the plant and uses a Summoning Charm on my clothes. Even my wand comes rocketing back through the window. Averting her eyes, she carefully hangs the clothes on the bush’s branches and steps away, back towards me. I get dressed so quickly I’m sure I broke some sort of record. No sooner am I done than Finnigan and Bulstrode open the door, followed by the rest of both houses.

I quietly slip into the group, but I manage to catch Hermione’s eye across the room. Checking to be sure no one is looking, I mouth the words, “Thank you.”

She smiles, looks left and right, then her lips form the words, “Nice arse.”

I’m going to kill that plant.


	23. A Little Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco, Hermione, and Venice . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3 Grand Finale Part 2: pick our favorite movie, give our drabble the same title, and incorporate a line of dialogue from the film into the drabble itself. Draco's final line is from the 1979 movie _A Little Romance._ No copyright infringement is intended. I wound up second runner up.

Hermione began to loathe Venice by her third day acting as a liaison for the Ministry with her Italian counterpart. The talks on international cooperation for regulating non-human rights weren’t the problem. It wasn’t the stunning architecture, the amazing food, the gloriously golden sunshine, or the miles of galleries of breath-taking art. No, what was making her hate Venice, every utterly perfect Renaissance bridge of it, was that wherever she looked, she was confronted by couples who were completely besotted with one another. She’d never felt more alone.

On the fourth morning, she stopped at the tiny restaurant down the street from her rented apartment and bought her morning espresso. She closed her eyes and inhaled the strong aroma, letting it bring a smile to her face, but when she opened them once more, she wondered if the steam from the cup was clouding her vision. There, across the square, she saw a glint of blond in the morning sunlight. Realizing he was no illusion, she tried to look away quickly, but it was too late. Draco Malfoy was headed right for her, his trademark smirk firmly plastered across his face.

“Buongiorno,” he said, giving her a mock bow before taking the seat across from her.

She sighed, exasperated, but a tiny part of her couldn’t help feeling relieved that at least she was no longer sitting there alone. To her surprise, Draco nodded at the waiter, who immediately brought him three biscotti and coffee as though he were a regular.

“I’ve been here for months working on some of Father’s remaining assets,” Draco said in answer to her unasked question. 

“Really?” she said, watching him add a truly obscene amount of sugar to his coffee. “And why can’t dear Lucius arrange his own business? Would he need to dirty his hands by speaking to Mudbloods?”

“No. He died two years ago,” Draco said.

“Oh!” she said, instantly mortified. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“There’s no reason you should. Mother managed to keep it out of the papers so it could be a quiet funeral,” Draco said. 

He took a long sip of coffee, and Hermione felt horribly awkward. She hadn’t seen him since that day at Hogwarts long ago, but she’d heard rumors that most of the Malfoy fortune had been seized in penalty for war crimes, and Draco himself had been leading a mostly quiet life. It was strange, sitting across from him as though somewhere through the years a truce had been called over their schooldays’ war.

“Have you been in Venice long?” he asked.

“Why do you care?” she asked in return, then grimaced. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just… well, why do you?”

Draco paused with his cup halfway to his mouth, and he appeared to be thinking over his answer.

“Would it be odd to say I think I’ve missed you though I didn’t realize it until now?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but I think I know what you mean.”

He smiled, and somehow they had come to an understanding. Every morning, they sat at the same table for breakfast, and their conversation, filled with empty silences at first, quickly began to flow easily between them until finally an occasional quiet pause became a companionable moment of listening together to the rhythms of the city, the rapid music of Italian echoing off the building facades like a private orchestra for only them. 

For three weeks things went on this way, and Hermione rapidly realized that her mornings with Draco had become the center of her day. But it was about to change. Her job for the Ministry was complete, and she had no reason to remain in Venice longer, at least none she could justify to herself. She held off telling him until the day before her departure, intent on not spoiling the brief time they had left.

“When?” he’d asked, the corners of his mouth strangely hard.

“Tomorrow,” she said, unable to look at him. 

She had no reason to think that these mornings meant anything more to him than a pleasant way to spend breakfast, a way to pass the time, a hobby, but Hermione knew the feeling of her heart breaking from prior experience, and that was exactly what the heavy weight on her chest was. When she hazarded a look at him again, she found a troubled expression on his face, but he quickly replaced it with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well then, we’ll have to spend the rest of your last day here together, won’t we?” he said.

She’d planned to pack, to tidy up a few last minute, unimportant things at the office, but somehow, when he took her hand and, leaving a bit too much money on the table for the waiter, guided her to her feet, every other possibility for the day vanished. They explored the nooks and crannies of the city, making it their own as they learned the passages along the canals. They laughed together, refusing to think of tomorrow, as they sat in St. Mark’s Square and fed the pigeons. As the angle of the sunlight began to lengthen the shadows, Hermione found it harder to smile, but Draco seemed to have one last flash of inspiration.

“Have you had a gondola ride yet?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t had time,” she said, though it wasn’t quite true. She really hadn’t wanted to go alone.

“Then we’ll fix that,” he said, weaving the pair of them through the city crowds and to a vacant boat. 

The gondolier gave them a knowing grin and thankfully refrained from singing any touristy pseudo-arias as the boat began to glide gracefully through the canals. The sky overhead became a shade of deep apricot and rose, utterly spellbinding, and as they approached a particularly ornate bridge, Hermione turned her gaze from it back to Draco. She found him looking at her with an almost nervous expression. He moistened his lips, the movement drawing her eyes.

“There is an old Venetian legend that says if two lovers kiss in a gondola under the Bridge of Sighs at sunset when the bells of the Campanile toll, they will love each other forever,” he said in a rush.

At that moment the carillons all over the city began to peal wildly, joyously, as they had for centuries and would for centuries more, and as their lips touched in the shadow of the Bridge of Sighs, Hermione knew beyond doubt that the legend was true.


	24. Too Hot Not to Handle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys do the stupidest things to get the attention of girls. Draco is no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 4, challenge 1: Summer Bachelors - "Summer bachelors, like summer breezes, are not as cool as they pretend to be."

Usually, Hermione could figure things out pretty well. Arithmancy problems that sent lesser wizards running were child’s play to her, brewing complicated potions posed little challenge at all, and even an amicable break-up with Ron while maintaining their friendship after the war had proved relatively less than messy. 

However, the idiotic things men did to prove their masculinity, especially in front of women, completely baffled her. Currently, she, Harry, and Ron were sitting in a Mexican restaurant after finishing up their duties as liaisons to the International Wizards Convention that had met in Mexico City that year. For some completely bizarre reason, they had started trying to impress a pair of particularly pretty senoritas by eating various kinds of extremely hot peppers, each time making the most grotesque facial expressions possible.

“Hey, Lucita, watch this!” Ron called out proudly as he downed an entire jalapeno. 

His eyes immediately started to water, and in less than five seconds he was burying his mouth in a glass of ice water, slurping horribly. Lucita’s expression wavered between rather impressed and sickened. Hermione, for her part, was simply happy there hadn’t been a repeat of the results of Harry’s attempt at gaining Josephina’s admiration. She was pretty sure those burn marks were never going to come out of the carpet.

A loud laugh from the bar snapped Hermione’s attention towards the familiar face of Draco Malfoy. He’d been playing very nice on this trip for the Ministry, in fact so nice that it was beginning to become suspicious. He sauntered over to their table, gave Hermione a nod, and joined them.

“Weasley, Weasley, Weasley,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve got the digestive fortitude of a Flobberworm.”

“Like to see you do better, Malfoy,” he rasped from the bottom of his glass.

“Oh, I can,” he said, “but not with that lightweight stuff.”

He motioned for a server to come over, then words that made the conversation in the room completely stop, the mariachi band grind to a halt, and the bartender drop the margarita his was mixing.

“Naga jolokia, por favor.”

“You’re really going to eat one of those?” Harry said, still holding an ice cube against his burning lips.

“Only if we make the bet interesting enough,” Draco said as the waiter hurried off to procure the pepper via a magical supplier in India. 

“Fine,” Ron said, rallying enough to sit upright. “If you don’t manage to eat the whole pepper, keep it down, and not drink or eat anything for a full three minutes after you’ve finished the last bite, without using magic, you’re giving us the keys to your villa in the Riviera for a month next summer.”

“And if I do meet all of those conditions,” Draco said, “Hermione will kiss me.”

“What!” she said immediately, blushing furiously.

“Oh, come on, Hermione,” Harry said. “There’s no way he can do it. That’s the hottest pepper in the world. He’ll be crying for his mum after the first bite.”

Hermione looked at Draco uncertainly, then nodded her assent.

The bright red pepper arrived on a tiny plate, and without further ado, Draco ate it in three perfectly calm bites. Harry pulled out his watch and began counting down the time. Draco, for his part, appeared as comfortable as if he had just finished a dish of ice cream. 

However, by two minutes there was a telltale sheen of perspiration forming on his forehead. At two and a half, Draco developed a facial tic, immediately followed by his eyes bulging in their sockets.

“Three!” Harry yelled, and the moment the word was out, Draco was on his feet.

“Holy Hecate’s nicest knickers that thing is hot!” he screamed. “Water!”

To the amusement of everyone in the bar, Draco proceeded to run out the door and plunge himself into a horse trough out front, mouth gaping open. When he resurfaced, he was met with the applause of half the bar, including Ron and Harry.

“Well, I suppose you earned it,” Hermione said, kneeling next to the trough and puckering primly.

“I earned a lot more than that, woman,” he said, and grabbing her shoulders, pulled her into the trough with him and soundly kissed her to another round of cheers.

No, Hermione couldn’t understand testosterone contests, but at the moment, she couldn’t tell whether the burning on her lips was residual pepper juice or just Draco’s expertise. Frankly, she really didn’t care.


	25. Hot Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During fifth year, Draco gets a bit too power hungry, but there's always a price to be paid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 4, challenge 2: "What dreadful hot weather we have!" This one won the challenge.

Hermione thought she must’ve done something horrendous and died without realizing it because never before had she felt this hot. 

Certainly never in January.

“Those Weasley twins!” she mumbled. “If they want to annoy Umbridge, why couldn’t they confine the frying charm to her office?”

“Neaten up!” a mirror yelled at her, and she stopped to inspect the damage.

She made a doomed effort to straighten her perspiration-drenched curls, but as she glared at the mirror, she noticed someone smirking behind her. Not one hair on Malfoy’s head was out of place, and he looked perfectly cool.

“Why aren’t you hot?” she asked.

“Please! Everyone thinks I’m hot,” Draco said.

“No, really, why aren’t you dying of heat?” she said.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. It’s rather chilly today,” he lied.

“I should’ve known better than to ask one of Umbridge’s goon squad!” Hermione said, grimacing once the words slipped out. “How many points was that?”

“Fifty. Or perhaps you’d rather spend detention shoveling wood into the school fireplaces with your beloved house-elves for the next three hours? That’ll warm you up,” Draco said.

“I’ll work with the elves,” Hermione said, lifting her chin defiantly.

Draco’s grin faltered.

“You don’t mean that,” he said. “This heat… you’ll get sick!”

“Gryffindor is already down five hundred forty-six points. Any punishments the Inquisitorial Squad gives are charmed to be binding, right?” she said.

“But… I didn’t mean…,” he stammered. “Be reasonable! Take the fifty points!”

“I’ll report to the kitchens,” she said, turning on her heel.

She didn’t see Draco’s truly alarmed expression, but before she’d gone ten paces, she felt a fresh, cooling breeze travelling with her. 

She also didn’t see Draco suddenly dripping sweat or hear him grumbling, “Why does it work on only one person at a time? Why?”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	26. Unexpected Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-war, Draco runs into someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 4, challenge 3: ""Like a tall glass of lemonade / When it's burnin' hot on summer days / She's exactly what I need." - Passion, "Lemonade", exactly 350 words.

Draco had never expected to see her again. When he had struck out on his own after the war, he moved to a perfectly normal little town near Wales, a place with no magical inhabitants at all except for him. Months had passed since he’d bothered even looking at the wand that had replaced the one Potter had won from him during that nightmare so long ago. He tried hard to forget he’d ever been a wizard. He’d fallen out of contact with everyone in that world, including his parents.

And then he saw her. At first he thought he must be imagining the resemblance to his old school nemesis, the Muggle-born who had famously beaten him in ever subject, but no, he was certain it was Hermione. She was sitting on a bench beside the old fountain in the town’s small park, feeding pigeons. She wore a simple sundress of pale yellow, the same shade as lemonade. Every once in a while a small puff of wind would send tiny droplets from the fountain’s basin towards her, creating a fine mist even in the heat of the day. She looked perfectly cool and happy.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she said without turning towards him. “It’s rude to stare, you know. But then being polite was never one of your priorities.”

He took a step backwards in surprise. It had never occurred to him that she knew he was there, but her tone was more teasing than angry.

“Hello,” he said simply, sitting beside her on the bench, then blurted out, “Why are you here?”

She sighed and threw the last of her breadcrumbs to the birds, then faced him.

“The aurors need your help,” she said. “Harry’s being too proud for his own good about it, so I thought I’d ask you myself before he goes and gets himself blown to bits by the remaining traces of the Death Eaters. So, will you?”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. Peace and quiet were starting to get on his nerves anyway. She was precisely what he needed.


	27. He Said/She Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco have somewhat radically different interpretations of their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 4: "Summer Lovin' Had Me a Blast" - a maximum of 499 words and needed to be inspired by the song "Summer Lovin'" from Grease. This ficlet won the challenge.

Blaise and Goyle were grinning much too widely as Draco sat down in their customary booth at the Leaky Cauldron.

“So? Do I need to pay Nott five Galleons or have you kept your perfect record?” Blaise asked.

Draco dramatically paused, took a swallow of Firewhisky, then said, “Your gold’s safe.”

Goyle and Blaise gave loud whoops of masculine pride as they clapped Draco on the shoulder.

\----

“Are you mental?” Ginny asked as they sat at their usual table at the Three Broomsticks. “What possessed you to go out with Draco?”

“He said please,” Hermione said, shrugging but barely hiding a coy smile.

Ginny’s jaw dropped.

“Seriously?” she said. “I didn’t know his mouth was capable of forming that series of sounds.”

\----

“Did she actually beg?” Goyle said, snickering.

“A gentleman doesn’t tell,” Draco said, but his lecherous smirk told a different story.

“Thankfully, no one’s ever accused you of behaving like a gentleman,” Blaise said. “Details, if you please…”

\----

“We went to a Muggle cinema and watched that new Disney film,” Hermione said.

“Draco took you to see _Finding Nemo _?” Ginny said, staring at Hermione in admiration. “Even with extremely good bribery I couldn’t get Harry to go to that. How’d you manage it?”__

“It was his idea,” Hermione said, then added conspiratorially, “and he actually cried when Nemo finally got home.”

Ginny’s spit take was truly spectacular.

\----

“Not a single character in the whole movie ever wore a stitch of clothing, and Granger was really into it,” Draco said smugly. 

Goyle slugged Draco hard on the right arm, leaving a Quaffle-sized bruise on his bicep.

“Well done,” Blaise said, elegantly raising an impressed eyebrow.

“Yeah, it gave her loads of ideas for later,” Draco said, snickering wildly.

\----

“A sushi bar?” Ginny said.

“The movie put the idea in my head, awful as that sounds,” Hermione said, “so I suggested dinner at Keiko’s Pagoda afterwards.”

“Draco ate raw fish?” 

“Not really,” Hermione said. “He couldn’t quite get the hang of the chopsticks. After dropping his fifth _hosomaki_ on the floor, he grabbed one off the plate, stuffed it in his mouth, and said he was done.”

\----

“So how’d the night end?” Goyle asked.

“We Apparated to her flat, she gave me a quick tumble, and I went home for a shower and a cuppa before work,” Draco said.

\----

“He completely missed you? Is that even possible?” Ginny said.

“When he went to kiss me, he fell down my front steps. Then he Apparated home in a huff. I’m not sure he’ll even want to go out again,” Hermione said sadly.

\----

“Think you’ll bother with her again now you’ve got what you wanted?” Blaise asked.

“Hey! Don’t talk about her that way,” Draco said angrily. “It’s rude. And yes, I wouldn’t deny her the privilege of my company, and I know just the thing she’d like: a night of randy dancing.”

In Draco’s pocket sat two tickets to _Swan Lake._


	28. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione looks at the damage from all sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 4, challenge 5: The Summer After Deathly Hallows - the summer after _Deathly Hallows_ , not epilogue compliant (really, what is?).

After the Battle of Hogwarts, as people were already starting to call it, was over, Hermione wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath and then fall asleep for a hundred years or so. She tried to do both, but the next day she woke at half past noon to a world that, although saved, still needed to be repaired. Worse, there were things that couldn’t be fixed. Fred, Professor Lupin, Tonks, and so many, many others needed to be buried and mourned. Their families were still in the castle Hermione noticed as she sat down to either breakfast or lunch depending on how she looked at it. Harry was already gone, and since Ginny was nowhere to be seen, Hermione guessed pretty well where he might be. The rest of the Weasleys were sitting silently at one end of the Gryffindor table. She felt she was intruding on their grief, so she quietly backed away, taking a sandwich wrapped in a napkin and went out onto the grounds.

There were no parents there for her, no one to welcome her home since there was no one she was related to who remembered she even existed. After those moments with Ron yesterday she supposed she should have felt she belonged with him, but even the thought of talking to him right now made her throat close up. Part of it was the awkwardness of what to say about losing his brother, but part of it was also that she knew that what had happened was really the result of battle adrenaline, nothing more. She’d forgiven him for leaving, but she couldn’t forget it, and what she’d once felt for him was simply gone. He was a friend, a good one, but nothing more.

The scars of the battle littered the landscape. There was a lot of work to be done, she thought as she stared up at the ruined stonework. She walked a few steps backwards to see a broken parapet better when she fell over something and landed flat on the ground.

It turned out the something was actually a someone from the loud cry that burst from under her as she tumbled to the ground. 

“Sorry!” she said automatically, then noticed the white-blond head of the person lying face down in the dirt. She steeled herself for the usual biting remark, but Draco said nothing, only got slowly to his feet and began to wander away towards the Forbidden Forest.

She didn’t know why she followed him. It was almost a habit now, trying to figure out what the other side was doing and why. Draco followed the shore of the lake, just inside the treeline, his pace strangely mechanical. She stayed ten paces behind him, hand on her wand, ready for anything that might happen. Suddenly, he simply stopped.

“Why are you following me?” he asked in a lifeless, flat tone.

“Why were you lying on the ground?” she asked him.

“Because that’s where I fell when Kingsley Stunned me as he was taking my parents away,” he said.

Of course, Hermione thought. Any surviving Death Eaters would be arrested immediately. Granted, Harry had said what Narcissa had done to protect him, so her sentence might be lighter, but even so.

“So where are yours?” he asked, still not looking at her. “Back at the castle?”

“Australia,” she said automatically, then clapped a hand over her mouth with a gasp.

He turned to look at her, and she saw his eyes were blood-shot.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said. “Doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Your side won.”

“Depends on what you call winning,” Hermione said bitterly, thinking of Fred, Tonks, Collin…

“Crabbe was an idiot,” he said quickly. “He was a right fool, but he was my friend.”

Hermione stared at him, wondering if it was actually possible for him to have cared about someone other than himself, for Draco actually to hurt, and that’s when she realized it was a stupid question even to consider. Of course it was possible. He might be a Pureblood fanatic, but he was still a human being. Still, she couldn’t quite find the sympathy to say she was sorry Crabbe was dead considering he’d died to trying to kill all of them.

“I know,” she managed. 

His face twisted for a moment as though he was about to say something horrible, but the expression died before it became anything, and he remained silent for a while.

“A bunch of dead kids all over the place,” he said, sounding drained. “What’s the point of it all?

Hermione had it on the tip of her tongue, what all this meant, but somehow it didn’t form into words. Why had Voldemort done the things he did? Why set all of this in motion in the first place? 

“There isn’t one,” she said and turned to leave.

As she walked away, she heard him say loudly enough for her to hear, “I’m glad it was your side that won.”

She paused, just long enough for him to know she had heard, then continued back to the castle. It was too soon.


	29. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After one night, Granger and Malfoy must part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 3, challenge 6: "I know I am but summer to your heart And not the full four seasons of the year." Edna St. Vincent Millay. This ficlet won the mod's choice.

Dawn was breaking. Hermione could see the reddish light of the rising sun staining the ceiling at the window, and she shut her eyes again, willing the darkness to return and knowing it was futile, childish. She was a grown woman. She’d walked into this with open eyes, and no promises had been made because she hadn’t wanted to hear the lies.

Next to her, she could feel Draco beginning to stir. His usually perfect hair was ruffled from sleep, a patch of pale silver-white against the black silk of the pillowslip. For a moment, he seemed to nestle more deeply into the feather mattress, and she saw a shadow of her own unwillingness to open her eyes. But slowly, his lashes fluttered open, and he looked into her eyes. There was resignation there.

She glanced away to spare him the awkwardness of getting out of bed under her gaze, and she heard the sound of robes being pulled on, shoes tied. She screwed her eyes firmly shut as the rosy light became brighter, mellowing to soft yellow as the sun climbed above the horizon. Without opening them, she could sense his presence standing beside her, and when she felt his fingers gently trace the shell of her ear, she steeled herself to look at him again.

“I have to go,” he said, and she nodded once.

“I understand,” she said, choking off a sob.

“Do you?” he asked, his brow wrinkling, his expression sad. “I’m not sure I do.”

“We can’t be together,” she said as much to herself as to him. “The Ministry would never understand why I’m with you, and your parents would disown you in a moment if they knew. I never had any illusions that I could be everything to you.”

“Yes,” he said, looking towards the open window as he wrapped a scarf more tightly around his throat. “Of course. It’s for the best.”

A moment passed, with Draco staring out at the sea below, then Hermione blurted out, “I don’t regret it.”

His head whipped towards her at the words, and she thought she caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You don’t?”

“No,” she said defiantly.

“Then, neither do I,” he said, sitting beside her and drawing her into his arms, resting his chin atop her head. “A man would have to be a fool to regret…”

He stopped short and said nothing more. Gingerly, she broke the embrace, and he pushed an unruly curl back behind her ear as he stood once more.

“I’d better leave now,” he said, picking up a sheaf of parchment by the door. “I…”

But he stopped himself again, shaking his head, and quickly left.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Hermione let out a quiet sob, twisting into a miserable ball in the swirl of black silk sheets, shuddering with the loss of him so close after finally having him. She felt cold, inside and out, and utterly alone.

“Sod them.”

Apparently not quite so alone as she had thought. She sat bolt upright in shock to find Draco standing not two feet from her.

“What?” she said.

“Sod them. Sod the Ministry, sod Mother and Father, sod Saint Potter and Weasleby, sod the whole bloody world! For the first time in your life, you’re completely wrong. You are everything to me, and to hell with the rest of the world,” he said, his face daring her to say differently, and she was stunned speechless.

“Um… unless you don’t feel the same way?” he added, looking rather terrified suddenly.

Hermione shot out of bed like lightning, launching herself into his arms, where she had every intention of staying for the rest of her life.


	30. Message Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's torture is haunting Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 4, challenge 7: "A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows" by St. Francis of Assisi as inspiration.

Draco had been having nightmares since the Dark Lord’s arrival, but it was the waking world that was the true horror. He’d seen things, even been compelled to do things, whether by the Imperius curse or through death threats to him or his parents, that were too terrible to contemplate, but that night when he’d suddenly found his three old classmates looking at him from the floor of his own home as Bellatrix crowed in triumph had broken him.

He’d seen her tortured. He’d wanted to do something, stop it, play the hero and save her, but there was nothing he could think of that would do anything other than possibly get them both killed. Hermione had looked at him once, just once through the pain, and he tried to put into his gaze the helplessness and anger and sorrow he felt, but then her eyes rolled back into her head in another wave of agony.

Days passed, and he couldn’t get those horrible images from his mind. But one night, waking from another nightmare in which he stood paralyzed while she screamed, he saw something glowing brightly, filling his room with light: an otter. He stared at it, wondering whose Patronus it was, when it spoke in her voice.

“I understand.”

It disappeared, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He slept without dreams until morning.


	31. Unseasonable Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After book six, Draco's world becomes cold, but he must find some way to keep his spirit alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 4, challenge 8: “A life without love is like a year without summer.” ~ Swedish Proverb ~ This ficlet won the mod's choice.

It was cold, the sort of chill that wrapped around his bones like a serpent and made it feel like the life was being squeezed out of him. Draco couldn’t become used to it no matter how long it stayed near him. It was the perpetual warning of the presence of Dementors, now a staple at Malfoy Manor since the Dark Lord had taken up residence. 

From what the Carrows were saying, the Muggles had noted it was the coldest summer in decades, and the Death Eaters had laughed at their stupidity. Draco joined in, but like most of them, there was no heart in the sound. The cold and depression were the same for Muggle or wizard, and the unceasingly repressive weather was taking a toll on them all, save the Dark Lord. Draco was now utterly convinced that thing that had once been human had no heart left at all or else even he would have been unsettled by the ever-present cold.

Draco was never sure if the Dementors made it cold and bleak or if the debilitating unhappiness they brought was so strong that people were actually to blame for changing the skies to grey even in the middle of July. It didn’t matter, though, not really. The effect was the same.

Draco wouldn’t be going back to Hogwarts in September. It should have been his seventh year, the one every student looked forward to with the dizzying prospect of being at the top of the school’s hierarchy. Just last year at this time he’d been bragging to Pansy and Blaise that he hoped he wouldn’t be back at all, but the words had been empty, and even then he hadn’t meant them. Now Hogwarts sounded like heaven. Anywhere that wasn’t surrounded by the Dark Lord’s infernal, constant, red-eyed presence seemed like paradise, but his parents had been told Draco was to perform certain “duties” that would prevent his attending school full time. Those tasks made the cold seep deeper into him, but it never quite numbed him. He could still feel pain.

But being away from Hogwarts would spare him one thing. He wouldn’t have to see her empty seat in class and wonder where Hermione was, if she was alive or dead in a ditch somewhere, if somehow she and St. Potter and the Weasel had succeeded in whatever mad scheme they were trying or if the last hope for ever seeing true summer again was gone for good. He didn’t have to be in class for those thoughts to press against his mind, but at least her absence wasn’t quite so keen if he wasn’t surrounded by the places where she should be. Malfoy Manor had never known her face, and with things as they were, he hoped it never would.

In spite of it all, though, when he thought of her, a secret summer warmed his heart even in the midst of the coldness and despair of a thousand shattering hopes.   
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	32. Floral Shorthand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's easier to say things without words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 4, challenge 9: “Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer's year - it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul.” ~Author Unknown~ This ficlet won the challenge.

The first day of summer had arrived, and though Hermione wished she could skive off work for the day and enjoy a picnic in the park, her sense of responsibility simply wouldn’t let her. As it was, she was grateful for her work ethic because otherwise she would have missed the first day of the mystery. Sitting on her desk was a small bouquet of purple hyacinths. She frowned at them, wondering who could have left them, but plopped them into a coffee mug with some water. She had nearly forgotten about them until the end of the day when she decided to bring them home.

The next day, another bouquet of purple hyacinths rested on her blotter. Hermione pursed her lips in confusion, then put these in water as well. For the next several days, each morning an identical group of flowers was waiting for her. Several of her colleagues at the Ministry commented on them, mostly with exasperating suggestions that she had at long last found a new beau, but only Draco Malfoy offered any suggestion to what they might mean.

“You know anything about the language of flowers, Granger?” he asked, poking one of the flowers experimentally.

“I’ve heard of it,” she said, tilting her head curiously.

“You may want to research it,” he said, then abruptly left her office.

That weekend, Hermione read that purple hyacinths meant “I’m sorry” or “please forgive me.” It seemed an odd sort of message to give via flowers, and she wasn’t sure that was what the sender even intended, but it was intriguing.

On Monday, another flower awaited her, but it was an iris. Hermione raised an eyebrow, and that night found out that irises meant “your friendship is dear to me” or “wisdom and valor.” The same flowers appeared again the next morning. Hermione added them to a vase she had brought from home and charmed with an anti-wilting spell. Four irises stood proudly in the vase by the time Draco visited her once again to discuss preparations to welcome a contingency of Merpeople from the Mediterranean. He glanced at them, then at her.

“Very pretty, don’t you think?” she said, gauging his reaction.

“If you like that sort of thing,” he said, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

“I do,” she said, smiling.

The next week, yellow tulips arrived, and Hermione learned that her admirer meant “There’s sunshine in your smile.” Five tulips joined the irises, but Draco didn’t appear again until Friday.

“The meeting was a disaster,” he said, flopping into the chair across from her. “Finch-Fletchley’s Mermish accent was so bad that he nearly started a war when he asked their queen if she took one lump or two.”

They tied up loose ends, but just as he was about to leave, Hermione rested a hand lightly on his arm.

“Is it you?” she asked tentatively.

She could almost swear she saw a blush creep up his face, but he left without another word.

The next week, each day a gladiola arrived. Hermione was amused to find that its meaning was “Give me a break, I’m really sincere!” She couldn’t help wondering why Draco was being quite so subtle. However, if this was the game he wanted to play, now that she knew the rules, she intended to have her turn as well.

Early next Monday morning, Hermione quietly stole into Draco’s office and laid a single rose leaf on his desk, meaning “you may hope.”

He was in her office well before noon, smiling just a touch too broadly.

“Would you care to have dinner this evening?” he asked.

“Should I hand you a carnation or just say yes?” she asked, grinning.

Over the next weeks as their relationship deepened, Hermione found a variety of flowers waiting for her each morning, and each carried its own quiet message: magenta zinnias that told her of lasting affection, mistletoe begging a kiss, orchids saying she was beautiful, jonquils that asked if she could love him, and eventually a glorious bouquet of red roses that needed no book to translate that he loved her.

As autumn neared, she came to her office one morning to find him standing there nervously, holding two flowers in his hand. He’d never given them to her himself before, always letting the flowers speak for him, but this morning he put them into her hand himself.

“Primroses and… I’m not sure what this one is,” she said.

“Spiderflower,” he said. “Rotten name, but still…”

“What do they mean?” she asked. “And don’t tell me to look it up in a book! If you’ve got something important to tell me, say it!”

“I can’t bear to live without you and… and elope with me,” he said, sounding, as bizarre as it might be for a Malfoy, desperately shy.

Her mouth dropped open.

“I couldn’t bear to say anything at first, not when half the wizarding world still can’t think of me as anyone but the stupid kid who was mostly responsible for Dumbledore’s death, and then, this was just easier, but if you don’t want to, if it’s too quick or too soon or something…” he said, very nearly babbling until she put a finger to his lips.

“Yes.” 

The flowers from the vase, mismatched and strangely assorted as they were, made a lovely wedding bouquet.


	33. A Frosty August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco argue. The results are... chilling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 4 Grand Finale Part 1: 300 words based on the quote “The quarrels of lovers are like summer showers that leave the country more verdant and beautiful” by Sisanne Curchod Necker.

“Well, you’re the one who said it was too hot!” Hermione yelled as her lips started turning blue.

“That was before you turned the bedroom into our own private Antarctica!” Draco yelled back, his chattering teeth somewhat nullifying his glare. “What the hell have you done, woman?”

“Obviously I thought it would be fun to freeze to death, so I created an indoor bloody blizzard and froze the door shut on purpose!” she countered, sarcasm dripping from her words. “My cooling charm went awry, you nitwit!”

“Has it?” Draco said in feigned surprise. “I suppose my first clue should have been the icicles hanging off the canopy bed in the middle of August!”

“Oh, shut it, you, and help me figure out how to keep from dying of hypothermia in the middle of summer,” she said, her shoulders slumping.

“We’ve tried everything, even those ridiculous blue flames of yours. Nothing’s worked. If you’ve got any ideas, I’m ready to hear them,” he said, sitting down on the bed, which was now covered in six inches of snow.

“At least it should last only an hour,” Hermione said.

“That’s all? Just an hour?” he said, and though she thought he was joking at first, he seemed to look relieved.

“What?” she asked.

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and patted the bed beside him.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.

“Shared body heat might just be the ticket, pet,” he suggested. “Besides, if I’m wrong and we wind up a couple of ice cubes, can you think of a better way to go?”

Hermione rolled her eyes but was already plodding towards him through the snow that covered their carpet.

Nine months later, they named their new daughter Zaniah Apollonia Malfoy, though for some unknown reason they always called her Snowdrop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zaniah is a star in the constellation Virgo, and Apollonia is the patron saint of dentists.


	34. Tempest Tossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer before year six, Draco is in France, but he's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 4, Grand Finale part 2: requiring 599 words or less and the use of five words from a table of possible choices (mine were sunsets, seashore, clouds, stars, and thunderstorm). I finished second runner up in the round.

The sound of waves rolling softly into the rocky beaches of Brittany was the same as it had been all summer, and, now that Draco thought of it, the same as it had been for a thousand years. The meeting of land and water at the seashore never changed, but even though eternity might be a series of perpetual meetings here, tomorrow his life took him elsewhere.

As he watched the last of his summer sunsets, clouds rolled in. The stars, which usually shone so brightly overhead, tempting him to try to pluck them like ripe apples, were obscured. The fresh breeze became almost violent, and he could tell a fierce thunderstorm was in the offing. Good, he thought. It matched his mood.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” she said, and he turned, leaning casually against the seawall.

“Malfoys keep their promises,” he said. Mentally, he added “when it’s convenient and serves our purpose.”

“So do Grangers,” she said defiantly, her eyes snapping as the first drops of rain fell.

He smirked, but with less malice and more admiration than usual. His family had taken summer holidays in France ever since he was a little boy, but it wasn’t until the summer before fourth year that he’d realized the Grangers occupied a small cottage only a little farther up the coast for a week each year, as well. After an initial meeting that had left him with his toenails growing backwards and she with a starfish affixed to her face, they called an uneasy truce for the rest of their time in France. The truce led to brief moments of stolen conversation, ignored when they returned to Hogwarts, but resumed the following year.

This summer, though, he had the command of the Dark Lord heavy in his mind. Draco didn’t want to kill anyone. All he wanted to be was a boy like any other on the beach that day, talking to a pretty girl (though he’d die before he said that to Granger’s face) and dreading the end of summer for reasons that had nothing to do with dark plots.

“What is it?” she asked, and he knew he’d been staring vacantly.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“Something,” she said firmly. “You’ve acted strangely all week. What’s happened?”

For one moment he wanted to tell her everything, the plans to kill Dumbledore or else watch his mother and father die horribly, but that would endanger her too. He was sick of constant pressure and the itch beneath the long sleeves that hid the Mark that made his arm look like it belonged to someone else. He wanted to be just Draco. 

It wasn’t a conscious decision when he pulled her towards him, holding her at arm’s length and studying her face as though he wanted to memorize every detail. The rain fell in torrents, the wind lashing the drops against them so hard it stung, and he brought his mouth crashing down on hers with the same desperate force. Her response equaled his, and the storm seemed as much within them as around them.

He drew back, panting, eyes wide and horrified.

“T-this,” he stammered, “never happened.”

He turned, lightning splitting the sky overhead, yet through the storm he heard her voice.

“Yes, it did.”

He looked at her, a stone’s throw away. Their eyes locked, and then she turned, walking back up the beach, a silhouette in the growing darkness of the stormy night.

“Yes, it did,” he whispered, letting the rain fall on his face, feeling one last second of purity before he returned to his life.


	35. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rumor is going around about Ron and Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an alternate drabble that I wrote for round 4, challenge 4, but I threw it out and rewrote it.

“Tell me it’s not true,” he said, and Draco’s voice was so changed from its usual polished drawl that Hermione had to look up to be sure it was really him, yet there he was, standing in the doorway of her flat.

“What are you talking about?” she said, a little frightened by his wild appearance, his hair plastered to his head in the rain and his normally perfect robes splattered in mud.

“Weasley,” he spat out. “The word going around is he’s asked you to marry him. Tell me it’s a lie.”

Hermione stared at him, her mouth gaping, but she didn’t deny it.

“So it’s true then,” he said, his eyes boring into her.

She nodded silently.

“What the hell are you thinking of, woman!” he yelled. “That layabout? Do you really believe he won’t begrudge you every honor you earn, every particle of intellect you have more than he does? He’s a moron, a coarse, ill-mannered ruffian, a…”

“You will kindly not speak about my friend that way,” she said coldly.

“I most certainly will! He’s a… friend?” he said, checking himself mid-sentence.

“Friend,” she said firmly. “Not fiance.”

“But you said…,” he began, his face drawn in confusion.

“He asked, but I didn’t say yes,” she said, anger still hot on her face. “But in light of your arrogance I’m reconsidering!”

But relief swept over his face, and in spite of her frown he was through the door and his arms around her in a moment. She remained stiff at first, but slowly her posture relaxed, and her arms wound around him as well.

“Not letting go,” he warned her. “Not ever. Not after that close a call.”

“Always a drama queen,” she laughed, but she let him hold her close.


	36. Similarities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new counselor has arrived at Hogwarts, and he bloody well doesn't want to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover with _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. This was originally written for the LJ community Openonsunday, though this is a slightly longer version.

He was going to strangle Angel for this. The Powers-That-Be had spoken, though, and the next Apocalypse was destined to come from this bizarre little alternate dimension. He’d read the blasted books, of course, but it never occurred to him that it was anything more than fantasy. Still, after a brief portal-based conference with some old geezer with a beard and a wardrobe that looked like something out of a Halloween party, it had been agreed that Angel should send through one member of his team in an effort to fight the very darkness that Wolfram & Hart was helping to create in the wizarding world.

The upshot of all this was that Spike, unbelievably, was now a counselor at Hogwarts. If he ever got back, he was most definitely going to kill Angel, probably in some especially painful way involving flaming stakes, rabid chipmunks, and a collection of the worst of Britney Spears playing on a loop.

"So, Draino," Spike said, deeply bored, as he surveyed his newest delinquent through half-opened eyes.

"My name is Draco," the boy spat at him.

"Whatever. The report says here that you set fire to this kid Granger's robes," he said, reading the report. “Any defense on that?”

"She wasn't in them at the time, so I don't see why they're making such a big deal. She's just a Muggle! She's annoying! She drives me crazy, and she’s always poking her nose in where it doesn't belong," Draco yelled, punching the arm of the chair. 

"Uh-huh," Spike said knowingly, leaning forward with a little more interest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco said with grimace.

“Tell me, kid, does she also happen to have stupid hair?” he asked in an oddly serious tone.

"Yes, now you mention it. Why?" 

"Thought so," the vampire smirked.


	37. Change of Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for round 6, challenge 1: an image of large green apple, and the quote "Great food is like great sex. The more you have the more you want." by Gael Greene. We could use one, the other, or both. For the curious, round 5 is archived under "Gryfftherin Globe Trotting" as a separate work.

“I thought you had to work this weekend,” Hermione said, startled, when she opened her flat’s door to find Draco standing on the steps.

“Complaining?” he asked, giving her a sly grin as he stepped inside.

“Only if your clothes stay on for longer than the next five minutes,” she said, shutting the door behind him with an abrupt bang and pouncing on him before he could even take his coat off.

“Easy there,” he said, eventually getting her at arm’s length. “Control yourself, woman! You’ll bruise the merchandise at this rate. Besides, we have plans.”

“And what plans might those be?” she asked with a pout. “More importantly, do they agree with my previously mentioned and highly brilliant suggestion of rapid nudity?”

“You’re insatiable! I shagged you not five hours ago,” Draco said, feigning shock.

“And I ate not five hours ago yet am hungry again right now,” she shot back, wrapping her arms tighter around him and edging them towards the stairway that led to her bedroom. “Complaining?”

“Not on your life, but hold on for just a few more seconds, pet,” he said, laughing, then produced a fountain pen from his pocket and glanced at the hallway clock. Quickly, he grabbed her hand and joined it with his on the pen.

The familiar pull behind her navel told her that the Portkey was sending them somewhere, and fairly far from the time it was taking, but she couldn’t help being a little disappointed that this obviously meant they weren’t going to be heading upstairs as quickly as she’d hoped.

When the swirl of colors stopped, though, she was more than pleased with their destination. They were inside an extremely posh hotel suite by the look of things. On a gorgeous dining room table sat dishes of roast chicken, salad, hot rolls, and chocolate frosted cake. An open doorway beyond revealed a bathroom with a heart-shaped Jacuzzi, foaming over with bubbles and sprinkled with crimson rose petals, a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream resting on its brim. The bedroom itself was dominated by an almost embarrassingly large and opulent bed, decorated in highly refined satins and velvets.

“Where are we?” she asked, her jaw dropping open as she looked out the window at the skyscrapers and twinkling lights of the city around them.

“New York City,” Draco said, obviously pleased at her reaction. “Curuthers in International Travel owed me a favor. Now what was it you said about being highly disappointed if I wasn’t naked in less than five minutes?”

“And you’ve got exactly ten seconds left,” she said, pulling her wand from her sleeve and brandishing it in a flourish. “ _Accio clothes_!”

As she raced him to the gigantic bed, Hermione was absolutely sure she was going to love being in the Big Apple.


	38. Most Important Meal of the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From round 6, challenge 2, incorporate either/both a picture of a traditional English breakfast and the quote "All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast" by John Gunther.

The morning after their wedding, Hermione stared across the breakfast table at her new husband with a mixture of mild disgust and grudging admiration written across her face.

“Do you do this every day?” she asked, her words colored with disbelief.

Draco paused in his incessant shoveling of food from his heavily laden breakfast plate to his mouth long enough to throw her a confused look.

“What? Eat breakfast? Yeah, usually,” he said, his fork spearing potatoes with the same speed as her mother’s sewing machine needle went through fabric.

“Not that,” she said, barely smothering a laugh. “Do you normally plow through breakfast with quite this amount of, well, insane gusto?”

“Please,” Draco said, rolling his eyes between bites of kipper. “You lived with Weasley in that blasted tent for months. Every morning must have been like watching someone slop the hogs!”

“Not really,” Hermione admitted. “Food was stretched pretty thin.”

“Maybe, but I saw him eat back in the Great Hall. The Slytherins used to place bets on how many fried eggs that boy would down,” Draco said, gesturing with his spoon and whipping a small spot of oatmeal onto the tablecloth in the process. “No one ever bet fewer than six.”

“But even Ron never ate this quickly,” Hermione said. “If speed eating were an Olympic sport, you’d be bordering on the gold medal and a world record into the bargain.”

“What’s an Olympics?” Draco asked from around a bite of ham.

“International Muggle competition,” Hermione explained. “You’ve got a bit of pudding on your nose, by the way.”

Draco immediately dabbed at the offending mess, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I guess I am rushing a bit.”

“Oh, just a tad,” Hermione said sarcastically. “What’s the hurry? Afraid I’m going to steal your tomatoes?”

“No, though that could be grounds for divorce. I’m just intent on resuming other activities as quickly as possible, preferably with plenty of energy,” he said, casting a meaningful glance back towards the bedroom.

Hermione laughed and continued eating her grapefruit half. After she took a couple more bites, though, she glanced up to find Draco’s expression was strained. In fact, he was looking rather green.

“Are you all right?” she asked, laying down her spoon in concern.

He shook his head, then lurched to the balcony of their honeymoon suite and promptly vomited into the shrubbery below.

Draco did indeed spend the rest of the day in bed, but not exactly as he had hoped, groaning and clutching a bottle of Daggle’s Dyspepsia Distillation. From that day on, Hermione noted that her husband ate breakfast at a far more leisurely pace.


	39. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From round 6, challenge 4 (I used my skip on 3): a picture of several bowls of curry and/or the quote "Hunger is the best sauce in the world" by Cervantes.

A long time had passed since Draco last felt her skin under his fingertips, far longer than he had thought possible without going mad.

He knew she needed to disappear to fight the Dark Lord. If they were going to defeat Voldemort, they needed someone with more brains than just Potter and Weasley. When she told him, he didn’t try to dissuade her. He knew better. What he’d done instead was kiss her, hard and hungry, her heart beating in a rapid staccato against his own. He needed to remember, needed her to remember, what this felt like.

Then, just as suddenly as she was there, she was gone. The portkey pulled her away, leaving behind only dust motes swirling in empty space.

Silent months passed. Every day he both hoped for and dreaded hearing anything of her. And then, that horrible night, she was there, tantalizingly out of reach, only a few steps away, but his greatest desire had become his worst nightmare. When he saw sadistic Auntie Bella use Cruciatus on her, he felt like he was the one being tortured. The only way to enter the manor house was for a Malfoy to lower the guards, and by sheer willpower he’d managed it. Somehow, poor, loyal, doomed Dobby had come, his blood scarlet on the white marble floor. But Hermione was gone. If Dobby hadn’t saved her, Draco knew he was supposed to follow in Snape’s footsteps. He also knew he couldn’t watch his beloved murdered any more than Snape could have seen Voldemort kill Lily without throwing himself between them.

Now it was over. Voldemort’s carcass lay mouldering in the dungeons. He’d glimpsed her at the final duel, but that had been many hours ago, though it felt like years. Now, at last, he spotted her, standing at the other end of a broken corridor, her form silhouetted against the sunset through the crumbled stonework. As though she felt his gaze, she turned.

Time stood still for one heartbeat.

Then they were running at full tilt towards one another, colliding like magnet and steel. His hands traced the lines of her lips until she pressed them against his own, and it was as though the kiss of a year ago had never ended.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, resting her forehead against his.

“It has,” he said, pressing her closer, “but they say hunger is the best sauce.”


	40. Movie Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 6, challenge 5: a picture of the spaghetti scene from _Lady and the Tramp_ and/or the quotation "We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink" by Epicurus. This one won the readers' vote award.

“Muggle kids sit and watch these things for hours?” Draco asked, eyeing the boxes from the DVD rental store suspiciously.

“Yes,” Hermione replied.

“I don’t get it,” Draco said, poking one of the plastic cases. “The picture on it is sweet in a twee sort of way, but hours staring at this thing?”

“Not the box, silly!” Hermione said, giggling. “You put it in a DVD player and watch a movie on the telly.”

Draco was still frowning at it, his gaze shifting back and forth between the Disney films Hermione had rented and her.

“A movie is one of those things where you see the story as it’s happening, right? And it moves like a normal picture book?” Draco asked.

“Yes, only Muggle picture books don’t move,” Hermione said.

“Well, fine, I suppose I’ll watch since you’ve provided popcorn and Chinese food,” Draco said.

“How charitable of you,” Hermione said with a sigh as she popped the disc into the player.

Draco’s eyes widened as the movie began.

“But, those are drawings! Plain Muggle drawings! And they’re moving! And talking!” he said, reaching out to touch the screen.

“Don’t do that!” Hermione said sharply.

“Why? Will I hurt them?” he asked, looking concerned.

“No, but you’ll leave fingerprints all over the screen,” Hermione said, embarrassed at her over-reaction. “I suppose it is rather like magic if you’ve never seen it before.”

“Bloody close, yeah,” Draco said, hunkering down on the sofa with one hand stuck in a bowl of popcorn next to him and nibbling distractedly on a spring roll in the other, eyes glued to the screen.

Hermione was becoming very amused as Draco found it impossible not to comment on the antics of Lady and Tramp, starting with what an idiot Jim Dear was to stick the puppy in a hat box with no air holes and leading up to Tramp’s multiple bad accents as he explained all the different restaurants he frequented when begging for food. However, once Tony started singing “Bella Notte,” he settled down.

“Am I crazy or is this scene romantic?” he asked. “I mean, it’s two dogs. Actually, it’s a picture of two dogs, but it’s really quite… nice.”

Hermione blushed. She’d forgotten how tender this scene was, but her subconscious had probably picked this movie precisely for that reason. When Lady and Tramp wound up eating the same strand of spaghetti, leading to a kiss, Hermione self-consciously stuffed her hand into the popcorn bowl to give herself something to do.

She really hadn’t intended on grabbing Draco’s hand in the bowl.

He blinked, but he didn’t shift his gaze from the screen. As Tramp gave Lady his meatball, Draco’s fingers curled tentatively around Hermione’s.

They sat that way for the rest of the film (except when Draco needed it to wipe a speck of dust from his eye when Tramp was nearly crushed), their hands a buttery mess and their skin burning from the salt, but neither of them cared.


	41. Differing Tastes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 6, challenge 6: a picture of fish and chips and/or the quotation "What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?" by Lin Yutang

“If one of the elves had brought anything resembling this coagulated, foul-smelling mass to our table, Father would have done things so indescribably horrific that I would have become a charter member of S.P.E.W. in protest,” Draco said. “What the hell is that?”

“Fish and chips,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at her melodramatic boyfriend. “They’re very nice.”

“They’re very scary, you mean. You call these chips?” Draco asked, picking up one of the greasy potatoes gingerly, as though afraid it might start to dissolve his skin.

“You’ve had chips before,” Hermione said, a little annoyed with his aristocratic food snobbery.

“Of course I’ve had chips! This, however, is not even in the same species,” Draco said, sniffing it disdainfully. “It smells of beef.”

“They were cooked the traditional way in beef drippings,” Hermione said, temper fraying by the second.

“Why kill a perfectly good source of filet mignon and for this trash?” Draco asked, tossing the chip back into the sack.

“Well, you don’t have to eat it! Just because my parents used to take me to that stand when I was little and I wanted to share it with you for some unknown, idiotic reason, don’t feel compelled to enjoy bonding over a symbol of my childhood!” Hermione yelled angrily, grabbing the take away and stomping into the kitchen. “I’m fully aware you think both I and my choice of cuisine aren’t good enough for you!”

“How was I to know it was symbolic haddock?” Draco mumbled to himself.

He stood still for a moment, trying to figure out what to do, then followed Hermione’s path to the kitchen and found her sitting at the table, sobbing into a fish and chips wrapper.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting next to her, “and I don’t think you’re beneath me just because you like food that gives me nightmares. You’re not beneath me at all. Just the opposite, really, since I can’t figure out what you’re doing hanging about with the likes of me.”

She looked up at him, eyes sparking angrily.

“Stop that! I gave Ron a case of Jellylegs last week for saying that exact thing,” she said.

“Then stop thinking I believe you’re lower than me! Your food, yes, that I _do_ think is subhuman, but you are not a plate of fish and chips!” he bellowed back.

She stared at him, he stared back, and they both broke down laughing.

“I’m being silly, aren’t I,” she said, taking his hand.

“Yes, but I love you anyway,” he said, smiling at her.

She gave him a sidelong look, then said, “Two bites and I’ll never speak of it again.”

Draco sighed, shoved one chip in his mouth, and added a bite of fish.

“Well?”

“Hideous,” he replied, swallowing with difficulty. “Now, if you want a real childhood favorite that’s delicious and elegant, I’ll bring mine tomorrow.”

The next day when Hermione returned home, she was horrified to see Draco beaming adoringly at a platter of haggis.


	42. The Trouble with Truffles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From round 6, challenge 7: a picture of mixed chocolates from a chocolate box and/or the quote "There is no love sincerer than the love of food" by George Bernard Shaw

“How daft do you think I am?” Hermione said angrily.

Draco stammered, pointing at the box of chocolates on her desk, his mouth open in confusion. Of all the reactions he’d considered to the gift he’d gotten her for the day after their first date, this hadn’t been one. Mentally, he raced through a list of reasons for the dagger looks being shot at him. Was the chocolate elf-made? No, he’d checked that. Did she think he was saying she was fat? No, she’d definitely said “daft,” not “fat.” Maybe she thought he was trying to kill her? Assassination via chocolate ganache filling?

“I thought you’d like them,” he eventually got out.

“Oh yes, because when women see chocolate we lose all reason and begin gulping bonbons like crazed Nifflers! You really believed I’d fall for this?” she said, walking around the desk to poke him in the chest with her finger.

“Fall for what?” he said, getting angry himself. “What unforgivable crime have I committed by giving you a mixed assortment box from Honeydukes!”

“I am perfectly aware it’s April Fool’s Day, and I’ll lay odds that those,” she said, pointing accusingly at the chocolates, “are from Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes! This one is obviously a Canary Cream.”

She picked up one chocolate and squinted at it critically. Draco understood going through the war might have made her a little paranoid (he had a lingering fear of anything reptilian himself), but this was too much.

“I am not pranking you!” Draco said. “It’s really just a simple, ordinary, non-incendiary box of chocolates! I enjoyed our dinner last night, the walk in the park, and the kiss on your doorstep, and I wanted to show I was thinking about you. That’s all!”

“Really?” she scoffed. “Well, if that’s the case, eat one yourself!”

“Fine, and you’re going to owe me a big apology!” he said, snatching the chocolate from her hand and throwing it in his mouth.

He chewed it almost viciously as Hermione glared at him with crossed arms.

“See?” he said, swallowing. “Nothing!”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when he began to feel itchy.

“What the…,” he said, and then he immediately sprouted bright yellow feathers. He stared at his arms, now wings, then began waving them wildly in protest. “I didn’t do this! Really!”

Hermione’s face remained stormy, but then abruptly she snorted and began giggling, then guffawing until tears rolled from her eyes.

“Got you!” she said, snapping the box shut.

“You switched them?” he said, noting happily that he was already beginning to molt.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t resist,” she said, still giggling.

“You, Ms. Granger, should’ve been in Slytherin,” he said. “That was completely evil.”

“Mm-hmm,” she admitted.

“I like it,” he said, his eyes glinting lasciviously, and he drew her into a kiss.

She didn’t notice only one of his hands was wrapped around her. The other silently reopened the box and slipped a chocolate into her tea.


	43. Special Delivery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 6, challenge 8 (finale), set one: an image or heart-shaped tarts or cookies or something that I couldn't quite identify, and/or the quotation "Anybody who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach flunked geography" by Robert Byrne.

“I hate this holiday,” Hermione said to Ginny as they sat by the Gryffindor fire. “It’s stupid, inane, banal, Medieval…”

“Sour grapes much?” Ginny said, grinning.

“You do realize St. Valentine, if he ever existed, was a celibate virgin who was stoned to death,” Hermione said, throwing a half empty box of Ice Mice into the flames and listening to it chatter in protest.

Ginny laughed, which infuriated Hermione more, and stowed her books back in her bag.

“Sorry to miss the rest of the explanation of why Valentine’s Day is a misogynistic, anachronistic nightmare, but I have a date with Blaise,” she said, “and if you tell Ron, I’ll hex you into next month. Ta!”

“A Slytherin?” Hermione mumbled in shock as Ginny climbed through the portrait hole. “Is she mad?”

Sighing, she headed up to bed, intent on getting a decent night’s sleep instead of pining away like some saccharine heroine in a Victorian novel. The fifth year girls’ dormitory was empty. Hermione was quite pleased to have the room to herself as privacy was extremely hard to come by at Hogwarts.

Suddenly, there was a tap on her window. Grunting angrily, she stomped to the window and threw it open to reveal a package on the ledge. The owl who delivered it had gone. Curious, Hermione unwrapped the parcel and found a heart-shaped biscuit and a note in elegant handwriting that said, “From your secret admirer.”

Hermione took a careful bite and began to smile.

The next night when she was alone in the dormitory again, another tap came, and another biscuit and identical note arrived. The scene repeated itself until Valentine’s Day, and each time she arrived too late to see the owl. Finally, determined to discover the identity of her admirer, she camped out by the window, barely daring to blink in case she might miss the mysterious owl again.

She was not prepared to see Malfoy’s eagle owl land gracefully on the sill and stare at her, head cocked to one side, the familiar bundle held in its talons.

“Malfoy?” Hermione said, shocked. “It can’t be!”

The owl gave her a withering look and left the parcel behind, winging off into the night. She opened it and read the note. This one was different.

“Yes, it’s me. You wouldn’t have seen the owl if I didn’t want you to. Tomorrow you can pretend none of this ever happened, or you can take a hell of a risk… that is if your oft-touted Gryffindor courage is up to it.”

Hermione read it several times, considering the situation as she nibbled the biscuit.

The next morning in Potions, she took a deep breath and walked towards the tables where the Slytherins usually sat.

“Is this spot taken?” she asked Draco evenly, nodding at the empty seat next to him.

He gave her a surprisingly warm smile, one that made her heart flutter in a completely ridiculous and wonderful way, and then said, “It is now.”


	44. Time Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 5, challenge 8 (finale), part 2: 350 words exactly based on the writer's favorite meal. Combined with the previous drabble, this won first runner up for the round.

The dinner had been wonderful. The Chicken Toscana looked like an illustration from a cookbook, right down to the garnish of parsley. Gourmet ice cream sat in the freezer while its topping, a puddle of fudgy ecstasy, waited in a chafing dish.

It was still waiting six hours later, now reduced to an indeterminate sludge of questionable parentage. The untouched food remained on the table, cold as snow, but nowhere near as cold as the look Hermione gave Draco when she was startled awake as he Flooed into the dining room.

Draco stared at the now ruined repast and then at his wife, who was threatening to murder him with the sparks crackling in her eyes.

“Hi?” he said, smiling with trepidation.

She sat perfectly still for a count of three, then exploded.

“Where were you! I took those ridiculous lessons with Molly, who kept clucking disapprovingly every other minute, I made all this, waited up for you for hours, and you’re late and smell of Ogden’s!” she shrieked.

“Settle down, pet,” he said, taking her gently by the shoulders. “Tonight was Blaise’s bachelor party, remember? They moved the date from the seventh back to the fourth because of the Quidditch finals.”

“But today’s the fifth, and more specifically, it’s your birthday!” she said, still furious.

“Well, now it is, what with it being three in the morning,” Draco said, then groaned in realization. “You were using the calendar in Father’s old study, weren’t you.”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Why?”

“It runs a day fast unless the person looking at it is pureblood. You haven’t had a day off work in a month, so it’s no wonder you didn’t notice,” Draco said, but he couldn’t help chuckling.

“I’ve been running a day fast for the last month.”

“Apparently.”

“I really loathe your father,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“As it’s my birthday, I think a more thorough apology is in order. Perhaps upstairs?” he suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

Her overwrought expression changed to unabashed lust, and in a moment the uneaten dinner was the only occupant of the room.


	45. Coulrophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, and now this one is in the right place (previously it was chapter 37). Round 7, challenge 1: Home is where the heart is. Draco is away on business at Plopsaland De Panne on his birthday. This needed to include at least one fact from the amusement park's Wikipedia page.

He was going to kill Potter and Weasley very slowly and painfully, possibly using some combination of the Cruciatus, rabid nifflers, and a liberal application of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes very worst itching powder. No jury could convict him after they’d seen this place.

“Hallo!” bellowed an overly cheerful costumed character who appeared to be wearing a folded lampshade on his head.

Draco just barely suppressed the urge to jinx him and instead gave him a scowl so dark it sent the weirdly dressed Muggle scurrying towards a group of children at the farthest end of the square.

“That doesn’t even vaguely resemble a gnome,” Draco mumbled to himself. “They really don’t know anything about anything, do they.”

According to Pothead and the Weasel, some dark creature had taken root around this ridiculous amusement park and was scaring Muggle children silly; hence, he’d been dispatched to this lunatic asylum to fix the problem without drawing undo attention to whatever was causing all the trouble. They’d neglected to tell him either that Plopsaland De Panne was so relentlessly happy that Draco would want to throw himself under the roller coaster tracks in order to end the pain or that he would be required to go on his birthday of all days.

“I should be home with Hermione, eating prime rib, drinking a lovely cabernet, and looking forward to a long, luxurious night unwrapping my present,” Draco told himself as he scanned the park carefully, “and I don’t mean the kind from Flourish and Blotts.”

Another character started approaching him, and Draco was suddenly filled with horror. What idiot would think that thing was appropriate for a children’s playground? It was a clown with a white face and red nose, vertical black slashes going through its blank, staring eyes, and an abnormally tiny smile that looked suspiciously like it might suddenly snarl and show gigantic fangs. Draco had never especially liked clowns. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he was more than a little disturbed by them, and this one was just so… so… And then he realized.

“ _Riddikulus,_!” he yelled, brandishing his wand fiercely at the horrifying clown of death, waiting for the hideous Boggart to dissolve.

Absolutely nothing happened except for a few children laughing hysterically and the clown patting him on the head as though Draco were a bit off and then moving on.

Draco was mortified.

When Draco finally found the Norwegian Ridgeback that had taken up residence in the foundations of the park’s coffee cup ride, he took great delight in stunning it for the Belgian branch of the Department for Control of Magical Creatures. Then he went home to his wife, determined never to tell anyone about his mistake.

When he came to work the next day to find that Potter and Weasley had plastered the office walls with moving pictures of his courageous battle against the clown, Draco smiled benignly. Then he owled Hagrid to see much a few dozen nifflers would cost.


	46. Tea and Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 7 (which reused previous challenges in a new way), challenge 2: “A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows” by St. Francis of Assisi. Birthdays, especially auspicious ones, can be a time for quiet reflection. Our birthday boy is in a pensive mood.

Draco sat alone at breakfast in the dining room of Malfoy Manor on the morning of his eighteenth birthday. His was the only chair occupied, as it had been the case ever since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Through the window, the sun was barely discernible behind a thick blanket of rainclouds, but then there wasn’t anyone to see. His parents had been arrested by the newly re-formed Ministry after Voldemort’s demise. He normally would have been dragged off to a holding cell along with his parents, but with Azkaban in disarray and a huge volume of prisoners, he’d been put under house arrest until his case came before the Wizengamot. The house-elves had been freed by the Aurors. Draco was the sole occupant of over one hundred rooms. It was unnervingly quiet.

When he heard the soft pop of Apparition, the noise startled him so badly he nearly knocked over his chair. He reached for his wand, forgetting it had been taken from him as soon as the Aurors had seen the Mark on his arm. Instinctively, he grabbed the nearest thing and threw it at the intruder.

“Ouch!” yelled a voice he recognized too well.

“What are you doing here, Granger?” he asked, scowling at her. Inwardly, he was relieved. He was sure he didn’t have to worry about a sneak attack from Goody-Goody Granger.

“A teaspoon, Malfoy?” she said, retrieving the offending cutlery. “How the mighty have fallen. You’d best be careful or you might put someone’s eye out.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said, still glaring.

“I’m here to see if you need anything,” she said.

“Very nice of the new government to treat its prisoners so humanely,” he said, sneering.

“I’m only following orders,” she said, her expression a withering mix of disdain and disgust.

“Weren’t we all,” Malfoy mumbled, then added much louder, “Get out.”

“So you don’t need anything?” Hermione asked with less of an edge in her voice.

“A bit of damn sentient companionship would be nice,” he said, “well, aside from the portrait of Grandfather Abraxas, who seems to think I’m ten years old.”

Hermione frowned, then asked, “Exactly how long has it been since you’ve seen another person?”

“What day is it?” he said, suddenly realizing he really didn’t know.

“Total isolation is a very extreme form of punishment,” Hermione said thoughtfully, though Draco wasn’t sure she was speaking to him or herself. “I’m sure that isn’t permissible under the Wizarding Prisoner of War Act of 1942.”

“Whatever,” Draco said, wiping off the teaspoon before listlessly stirring his porridge.

Hermione paused, then waved her wand and a plate of hot buttered scones and strawberry jam appeared on the table.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” she explained, sitting down.

He eyed her suspiciously but took one of the offered scones, spread it with jam, and chewed it silently. He didn’t say a word, but the sun streamed through a break in the clouds, mirroring his thoughts.


	47. Worst Case Scenario

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 7, challenge 3: "It Seems to Me That Love is Everywhere." Gifts are nice. Cake is too. But after the wrapping is thrown away, and the icing has gone to your hips, love is what remains. A confession of love, Hermione's POV, 365 words exactly.

Dear Draco,

I’m sure you’re shocked at receiving this letter, especially now that I’m dead. At least that’s how this is supposed to work. I’ve owled this to Kreacher and asked him to deliver it to you if something should happen to me. There’s no one else to inform. Harry and Ron logically already know, and I Obliviated my parents’ memories of me. I know, that’s cheating, but if the worst has happened, they needn’t suffer. Besides, I learned bending the rules from the master.

Bet you always wanted me to call you that, didn’t you?

When you started spying for the Order, I thought getting reports from you would drive me bonkers, and maybe you did. But I began looking forward to seeing you. I’ve loved our times together, insane as that might sound. I even loved the way we bickered, the teasing, our own way of flirting. And now that I’m dead, I can admit it: I loved you. I’ve thought of you every night during this interminable camping trip from hell: the way the edge of your mouth quirks when you’re trying not to smile, the silver glint in your eyes when you’re up to mischief (so, practically always), your voice, the shape of your hands. I can also admit I’ve thought of our one kiss that night in the Room of Requirement more times than any sane person should. I’m as much a love-stricken sot as Lavender ever was.

I swear, though, if we get out of this war alive, I’m going to give you such a thorough snogging that you won’t need any letter to tell you how I feel. If that’s not to be, then at least you know that once upon a time someone loved you.

Hermione

My mouth is hanging open. The letter, my letter, THAT letter, is in Draco’s hand. After the celebrations end, I am going to kill Kreacher.

“You wrote this?” he says, grabbing my arm firmly.

“I…,” I stammer, then admit, “…um, yes.”

“Better keep your vow, then,” he murmurs, smirking, and the next thing I know we’re kissing again as if this year never existed.

Maybe I won’t kill Kreacher after all.


	48. Of Teeth and Towels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 7, challenge 4: Everything Old is New Again! Cliches make great gifts (or is it that great gifts are cliches)? Whichever. Recycle one of the three cliches listed below into a brand new drabble for Draco!
> 
> 1\. Head Boy + Head Girl= Shared quarters!  
> 2\. Veela!Draco! & Lifemate!Hermione!  
> 3\. Oops! We were drunk last night, and now we're married!
> 
> 599 word max

“I swear to Merlin, Granger, if you put one toe over this line, I’ll hit you with so many hexes that the frizzy Doxy nest you call hair will be your most attractive attribute,” Draco said, scowling darkly.

“I have no desire to intrude on your personal space. If, however, I were to cross your silly chalk line, we both know you wouldn’t stand a chance of winning,” she said, hauling her trunk through the doorway into her newly assigned bedroom in the Head suite.

“You’ve got to sleep sometime,” Draco warned her.

“So do you,” she said far more threateningly than Draco had imagined she was capable of.

Their seventh year was far from domestic bliss. Draco had an annoying habit of leaving Chocolate Frog wrappers everywhere, and he seemed to think it was Hermione’s responsibility to clear them away. Hermione had a rafter-shaking snore that was clearly audible across their common room and through both of their closed bedroom doors. Draco left his Quidditch robes in untidy heaps all over the furniture. Worst of all, Hermione was so obsessed with flossing her teeth that Draco suspected her fingers were permanently grooved.

“You’re going to floss your teeth right out of your head, woman!” he finally yelled in late January, throwing a cushion at her. “Will you please stop it!”

“Did you actually use the word ‘please’ in my general direction?” she asked, putting a hand to her heart in mock dismay.

“Would your sensibilities be less shocked if I said ‘Will you sodding well stop it’?” he asked.

“As long as I’m on my side of the line, I can do whatever I like,” she said, then flounced back to her room, flossing all the way.

It was about this time that Draco developed a penchant for wandering around in nothing but a low slung towel after every shower. Hermione’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head at the first display of entirely too much skin.

“Get dressed, you narcissistic exhibitionist!” she yelped at him.

“I’m on my side of the line, so I can do whatever I like,” he quoted, then looked puzzled. “What has my mother got to do with anything?”

Hermione all but screamed in frustration.

“You quit the infernal flossing, and I’ll put on some decent robes,” he said, folding his arms.

“No,” she said.

Eventually, Malfoy began to suspect she was continuing her ridiculous habit for an entirely different reason than mere stubbornness, not that he minded. After months of parading around like a romance novel cover, he did the one thing she wasn’t expecting.

He stepped over the line.

She couldn’t blame him. After all, it would be impossible to kiss her from the other side of the room. As she relaxed against him, her hands still clutching the floss as they rested on his chest while they gave way to months, no, years of sexual tension, only one thought flitted through Draco’s mind.

He really liked the taste of mint.


	49. Vacation Planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 7, Challenge 5 (Finale), part 1: Holiday in June. Draco thinks he deserves a holiday (vacation) for his birthday. First person, Draco's pov, 300 words. This drabble won Moderator's Choice.

Trying to figure out where to go on holiday with Hermione is like tiptoeing through a minefield of geo-political disaster.

“We could go to Greece?” I suggest. “Ancient ruins for you to gawk at, you in a bikini for me to gawk at…”

“Didn’t you read that they legalized hunting Golden Snidgets last year?! I won’t put a toe in that place!”

“What about Italy?” I say, attempting to rub her shoulders, but she shakes me off and goes back to her knitting.

“I won’t visit a country that refuses House-elves the vote,” she say, her needles clicking angrily.

“Mexico?”

“No,” she says firmly. “Their stand on leprechauns is appalling.”

“What about the States?” I ask. “We could go to DisneyWorld?”

She glares at me wordlessly, her needles suspended.

“I forgot: Tinker Bell is an offensive fairy stereotype and their witches are all evil,” I recite. “Why don’t you pick where we go?”

She puckers her mouth in thought and stares at the ceiling so intently it might as well be the Sistine Chapel… not that I’ll be seeing that anytime soon. Finally, she looks at me.

“Canada,” she says.

“Land of mooses?”

“The plural is still moose, and there are lots of other things there!”

“Yeah, but hockey’s out of season in June,” I say. “That axes two-thirds of available entertainment.”

“They’ve granted full rights to all creatures of human or near-human intelligence,” she says, then looks almost embarrassed. “Besides, I loved the Anne books when I was little, and I want to see Prince Edward Island.”

She’s giving me The Look, the one that’s pleading with me and promising lovely things if I give her what she wants. I sigh, knowing I’m defeated.

“Fine,” I say, kissing her forehead. “At least Green Gables has a Slytherin color scheme.”


	50. Soothing Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 7, Challenge 5 (finale), part 2: freestyle drabble or 100-300 words. I kept the birthday theme from this round for the drabble. This was a rumble-based round, and I took third place overall.

The heat of the day was over, but for Draco bedtime tonight meant a deep, unquenchable burning.

Unfortunately, that had nothing to do with his feelings for Hermione and everything to do with his having fallen asleep that afternoon under a shady tree on the estate which proved to be far less shady as the sun changed position in the sky. He’d awakened to skin the color of Chinese Fireball, and from the feel of it a dragon had been roasting him for at least an hour. It was easily the nastiest sunburn he’d ever had.

“Just hold still a minute longer and I should have this sorted,” Hermione said, carefully applying a cooling charm to his back.

He could almost hear her wincing in sympathy as she gently healed the red skin, but even with her best efforts it was still smarting like mad.

“There,” she finally said. “All done.”

“Thanks, love,” he said, rolling over and hissing at the lingering pain. “Some birthday, eh? I skive off from work, intent on having a relaxing day, and look what happens. It’s karma for being lazy.”

“You don’t believe in karma,” she said, lying down next to him but being careful not to touch his skin. “And everyone’s entitled to be lazy on their birthday.”

“Pretty much killed romance though, so I won’t be getting my usual favorite birthday present,” he sighed.

“I’m sure you’ll feel better by morning,” she said, giving him a mischievous smirk. “Sometimes presents are better with a little anticipation anyway.”

Draco sighed melodramatically and put his hand over his eyes.

“Happy thirtieth birthday,” she said, kissing him very gingerly.

Draco smiled as she curled up next to him. Maybe his birthday hadn’t been perfect, but he wouldn’t trade his life for anyone else’s.


	51. Indesicively Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the warm-up challenge of round 8: 
> 
> Words: Commitment  
> Definitions: Draco's POV  
> Related Forms: 350 words, exactly.
> 
> This one won the readers' vote.

“No, I’m not!”

I was aiming for a mature, calm statement of fact. Judging by Hermione’s expression, I sounded more like a five-year-old with his hand caught inside a box of Ice Mice before dinner.

“Draco, the only thing you’re not terrified of committing to is your weekly Quidditch game,” she said, giving me a look worthy of McGonagall.

“That’s preposterous,” I retorted, modulating my voice better this time. “I’ve committed to many things.”

“Such as?” she said, crossing her arms.

“I finished my training as a Ministry barrister,” I said.

“After you tried and got tired of medicine, banking, teaching, running an inn, managing a potions emporium, and farming plimpies,” she said, ticking each of my failed career alternatives off on her fingers.

“I’ve been Blaise’s friend for fifteen years,” I said, firm in the knowledge she had no response to that.

“Except for the five years you spent not speaking after leaving Hogwarts,” she said.

By this point I was getting a bit nervous.

“I dated Pansy four years. That’s got to be a record,” I said, desperation creeping into my tone.

“Then the moment she started buying Bridal Weekly, you promptly fled,” Hermione said.

“Can you blame me? I mean, it was Pansy,” I said, shuddering. “Also, who in their right mind gets married at bloody eighteen?”

“Ginny, Molly, Arthur, Harry’s parents, Fleur,” she began. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Look, she wasn’t the one, all right? She wasn’t— she didn’t have— she was lacking in—,” I stammered, looking for the right words.

“If the completed phrasing of those statements involves use of the word ‘rack,’ I am leaving,” she said.

“No!”

Well, actually yes, but I wasn’t telling her that.

“Then what?”

“She wasn’t you,” I finished lamely. “The idea of being with you doesn’t terrify me. Thinking what my life would be like without you does. I’m serious, Hermione, I really do want to marry you.”

She stood there for a few moments, then nodded.

“That was the correct answer,” she said, smiling.

And that was how I proposed to your mother.


	52. A-Tisket, A-Tasket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 8, challenge 2:
> 
> Words: Adore and Need  
> Definitions: post - Hogwarts (Epilogue does not count)  
> Related Forms: 100 - 499 words

The spring morning sunlight was slanting through the great mullioned windows of Malfoy Manor, but there was a decided lack of the cheerless sophistication that had been its hallmark for generations. Instead, the newest master of the old and noble name was sitting on the floor of what was usually his study, but this morning it was filled with a veritable forest of daffodils, lilies, hyacinths, and tulips in a rainbow of colors. They made the whole room look like a wonderland, but the battle currently taking place amidst their merrily nodding heads was decidedly less peaceful.

“If you come one inch closer, I’ll hit you with a hex so heinous it’ll make the Carrows look humane,” Hermione said, clutching her Easter basket closer.

“There is no possible way you can eat all of those chocolate rabbits and not get sick,” Draco said, trying to reason with her even as he continued to creep closer. “I’ll just have one or two.”

“No. Eat your own treats from the basket I got you,” she said, practically growling.

“My basket is filled with Toothflossing Stringmints, a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and four carrots,” he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“There was a chocolate egg in there!” Hermione said defensively. “Look under the grass.”

“I ate that two hours ago,” Draco moaned. “It took exactly one bite.”

“Well, you were the one who said we should focus on not overdoing things this Easter,” Hermione said, not relinquishing her grasp on her own basket one bit. “I simply took you at your word.”

“I meant that we shouldn’t invite over Ron and Lavender’s brood of… how many is it now?” Draco asked.

“Seven at last count,” Hermione replied primly.

“Yeah, but that was at Christmas. By now it might be up to a round dozen. You know, like eggs usually come in. Not unlike Easter eggs. Particularly chocolate ones like those sitting right there,” Draco said, pointing towards her pile, his fingertip dangerously close to snatching distance.

“Hands off!” she said, swatting him away. “You know how much I adore these things!”

“Come on, luv, just let me have a couple of the smaller ones?” he pleaded, practically fluttering his eyelashes at her.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, considering him carefully. “I’d have to clear it with the Easter Bunny. Just how good of a boy have you been this year?”

“Not at all. I’m naughty right to the core,” Draco said, smiling. “Ask anyone.”

“Really?” she said, moving the basket to one side. “I think I may need proof of that statement before I make my decision. Do you think you can manage that?”

A highly memorable hour later, Draco reached over into her basket and unwrapped three foil eggs, popping all of them in his mouth at once and chewing contentedly.

“Convinced?” he said, letting the sweet taste of victory steal over his tongue.

“I suppose so,” Hermione said, laughing. “I may adore chocolate, but I need you.”


	53. Illegal Progeny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round 8, challenge 2:
> 
> Words: Naked and Illicit  
> Definitions: Hermione's POV  
> Related Forms: 100-499 words

“Hermione Jean Granger, you are accused of crimes against wizarding purity,” Umbridge says, giving me a wide, hungry smile. “I don’t think we need to put forward evidence when the defendant is so infamous, but a few of our number may find it diverting.”

Lucius Malfoy nods aristocratically, his eyes crackling with barely suppressed lust. He’s always loved to watch things in pain. I hold my head up a little higher.

“High Inquisitor Umbridge, the Wizengamot has deduced that this girl was involved in illicit copulation with a pure-blood wizard, and that she is carrying the spawn of the union,” Dolohov recites from a scroll, sneering at me. “After repeated questioning, she remains intractable and will not reveal the name of her accomplice.”

“You have been very, very naughty Miss Granger,” Umbridge says sweetly, “and naughty people must be punished.”

I know what’s coming. The simplest way to get rid of the whole problem is to kill me along with the baby. I’ve known death would come for me eventually, but I’d rather it didn’t take my baby.

“Alecto,” Umbridge warbles like a demented sparrow, “fetch the Dementor.”

At that, my head whips around, and I know my mouth is open in shock.

“Miss Granger, you’re to be a scientific study,” she says. “The effects of the Kiss on a wizard in the embryonic state have never been recorded before.”

I’m screaming, willing myself to do wandless magic in spite of the shackles lacing me to the spot, and then I feel the cold approaching and my voice dies in my throat.

It’s coming.

It’s coming for me.

It’s coming for the little one.

Umbridge’s cat, Lucius’s hawk, and Dolohov’s bear are prowling the edges of the room, the ghostly glow of the Patronuses a wall not protecting but imprisoning me with the cloaked figure detaching itself from the shadows, hissing obscenely.

I close my eyes and think of the memory of every sunrise, every Christmas, the warmth of his arms. But I feel that thing plucking each one away, leaving me naked and cold. Green light bursts against my closed eyelids, and I almost hope it’s Avada Kedavra. But it’s not.

I see the otter glowing in the darkness, and the Dementor retreats into nothing. It gambols towards me, and the chains drop to the ground. As I almost fall, arms go around me, and I recognize the scent of him. I don’t know how he’s done this, and he’ll undoubtedly be insufferable about it, but I’m not about to complain.

“Now if you’ll excuse us,” Draco says to a literally Stunned Umbridge, “and even if you won’t, you pathetic hag, my bride and I are leaving. Father, don’t expect an invitation to the birth.”

And we’re Apparating in a whirl of color and light, and there’s grass under my feet and blue sky above and fresh air and a thousand beautiful things the Dementor had made me forget ever existed.

“Took you long enough,” I finally say.


	54. Onlooker's Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 8, challenge 3:
> 
> Words: Vulnerable and Enchant  
> Definitions: Drabble must be a letter (from -any- one character to another about  
> D&H OR from D/Hr to Hr/D)  
> Related Forms: 100-499 words

Dear Miss Granger,

It has come to my attention that you are pursuing a romantic relationship with a fellow student who belongs to the house of Slytherin. It may surprise you that I know of this development as you seem to think you have covered your tracks relatively well, but the castle ghosts are generally up on all the goings on within our own areas of interest, though we generally remain discrete (though Myrtle’s dalliances with peeking at various virile young males through the tap in the Prefects’ bathroom is an exception and perhaps should be the subject of some warning to the general populace). It may also shock you to receive a missive from a ghost, but a simple enchanted quill does work wonders for taking dictation, even from the corporeally challenged.

But back to my matter of import. I am not, as you most likely assume, writing to you with the purpose of dissuading you from continuing your relationship with Master Malfoy (though I admit I find myself somewhat nonplussed about your selection as the two of you do seem to spend an inordinate amount of time bickering, though perhaps you find that enjoyable). You and your amour of choice seem to be relatively cautious with your rendezvous, but be assured, you are treading a truly treacherous path. There are spies within the school walls, quite literally in some cases, and the information that a pure-blood and a Muggle-born are dallying with one another could cause a literally fatal error.

In addition, I strongly suggest, for reasons that I am unfortunately sworn to secrecy concerning, that you avoid the Room of Requirement at all costs as it is currently vulnerable. While I do not know precisely what is happening in there, I have reason to suspect some party unknown may be fiddling with things better left untouched. Keep Master Malfoy away from that room if you would do both you and him a great favor.

As for your obvious concern regarding the intermingling of Gryffindor and Slytherin, put your thoughts to rest. In my younger years I was known to be rather enamored of Lady Elsabetha Emeraldia, who was Slytherin to the core. As you have discovered, this can be far from a bad thing in certain matters best left undiscussed in detail.

I wish you all health and happiness, and good luck to you in your upcoming finals. By the way, your notes on Herbology regarding the Tufted Toadstool are remarkably well done and I applaud your scholastic achievement as a feather in the cap of Gryffindor. Well done.

Your humble and obedient servant,

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, Esq.

P.S. I thank you for your kind research on the post-mortem severing spell, even though the results were fruitless. As I have begun to think the Headless Hunt is in fact populated by worthless windbags whom I would not wish to associate with on a regular basis, we can at last lay aside that particular quest.


	55. Father's Prerogative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 8, challenge 4:
> 
> Words: Respect and Satisfy  
> Definitions: From another character’s POV (Not Draco, not Hermione)  
> Related Forms: 100-499 words

If you have a daughter, no boy she dates will ever satisfy you. All fathers feel that way, but with Hermione it was worse somehow, not just because she was our only daughter but because she’d been taken away from us before when she was eleven. You really have no idea what it’s like to have an owl come swooping through your kitchen window one lovely summer day only to find out your daughter isn’t just the precocious little girl you thought, but someone who belongs in a different world you’ll never be able to inhabit. I can still see her pirouetting around the room, crying delightedly, “I knew it wasn’t all my imagination!”

Me, I just felt like crying. The world been turned completely upside down with fairy tales as facts, and our daughter was destined for Neverland while Susan and I were stuck looking out the nursery window, watching her pirate ship float away without us. We tried to talk her out of it, but I realized we were trying to hold her back more for us than for her. So she went to Hogwarts, and we stayed in London and wondered if our Hermione would ever really come home again.

She did, of course, but she wasn’t just ours anymore: she was theirs. Granted, we were proud of her; we just never understood what exactly we were proud of.

The first boy she brought around the house caused a panic. When she phoned that she wanted to bring him round for dinner, Susan and I were nervous. She’d never wanted us to meet a boyfriend before. Even more, he was one of them, and our last hope of her rejoining the normal world disappeared.

Absolutely everything about him felt totally wrong for her. When he looked at her, he didn’t seem to see her. It was almost like he felt he was settling for her, or worse, doing her a favor being with her. Then there was how he treated Susan. At one point he actually motioned her to fill his glass with water from a pitcher right next to him. I hadn’t raised my daughter to be some boy’s maid. Maybe Hermione realized it too, because she never brought him round again.

The second one, though, was an improvement. While he was still one of them and spent too much time staring quizzically at things like the remote control or the microwave, the way he looked at her, a mix of love and respect, made me… well, not like him. It’s principle. But I couldn’t automatically hate him when he obviously adored her.

“So, Draco,” I asked as I casually cut into the shepherd’s pie, “how long have you been shagging my daughter?”

He gagged so hard on his bread that Hermione had to perform the Heimlich maneuver, mussing that white-blond head of his.

You can’t blame a father for wanting a little revenge on the robber who’s stolen his daughter’s heart away, can you?


	56. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round 8, challenge 5 (finale), part 1:
> 
> Words: Affection and Relish  
> Definitions: Hogwarts Era, may disregard canon  
> Related Forms: 100-599 words

If they were caught, the penalty would be terrible, but that only made them relish it more.

Seventh year was hell. Hermione had been stunned to receive her Hogwarts owl in August, compelling her to return using veiled threats against her family. Harry and Ron had disappeared in July, leaving her behind since Muggle-borns were Tagged, making her a radar blip for the Ministry to track them. She hoped they would find the Horcruxes before Voldemort succeeded in destroying everything, but she’d heard nothing from them. Her hope started to fade.

Hogwarts was, for all purposes, gone, and the Death Eaters taught little but hatred for Muggles and Mudbloods. That was why she and a handful of other Muggle-borns had been forced back to Hogwarts. House points were given for blackening a Mudblood’s eye, making a Mudblood kneel before a pureblood, or performing the Cruciatus on the Mudblood chosen as the Daily It. This “honor” involved Snape pulling the student’s name from the appalled Sorting Hat and the unfortunate boy or girl being the special target of the day for all purebloods.

But what was surprising wasn’t who was slinging hexes at her but who wasn’t. Malfoy had remained grimly quiet from the first day of term, his patrician features gaunt, his eyes dead.

Then one day that changed. Hermione had been at the top of the stairs, going to the dungeons for Slughorn’s Potions class, one of the few places that was usually a haven as Voldemort gave his old Head of House leeway than all the other professors. Perhaps that was why she was off her guard when Blaise appeared on the landing and silently sent her hurtling downwards at breakneck speed. She’d honestly thought she was going to die.

She had halted an inch from the floor, hovering, unhurt but shaken. From behind her she heard Zabini complaining only to be cut off mid-sentence with a drawled, “Shut it and move on. Now.”

She’d never been thankful to hear Malfoy’s voice before. As he stood next to her, a spark of rebellion was in his eyes.

“He wanted you dead,” he said.

“And what do you want?” she asked, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Not this,” he said, gesturing to include their entire world.

She kept looking at him, then nodded. That moment made them allies.

The Room of Requirement became their base. Draco was certain something in this room held a clue to Voldemort’s downfall. He’d spent countless hours there repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, and he had often felt a pull, like something nearby was alive. They searched through the Room of Hidden Things, finding objects long forgotten, hoping somehow one of them would sense when they came across what they needed.

They weren’t expecting to find that what they needed was each other. In those months, their bond turned to friendship, then affection, then finally on an evening of trembling surrender, into love. They kissed amidst the towering rubble of a different world, safe from the eyes that kept them from even glancing at each other during the day. Hermione felt like she was remembering how to breathe.

Nearby, a battered diadem glinted dully, vibrating with indignation. All sorts of secrets were hidden in that room, but some would take longer to find.


	57. Through the Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 8, challenge 5 (finale), part 2:
> 
> Words: Years  
> Definitions: Freestyle  
> Related Forms: 100 words, exactly
> 
> For this round, I won second runner up overall. Also, if you look back, the first letter from each word in the prompt spells out anniversary. Very clever.

Ten years since I first saw him grinning in the Great Hall. I disapproved. Back then, I disapproved of most things.

Four years since I hid he’d taken the Mark. Once Harry described his behavior at Malkin’s, I knew. I said it was ridiculous because I realized he was in danger.

Two years since we kissed by the lake after properly finishing seventh year. I thought the world was falling out of orbit.

Today, Muggles and purebloods sit together as we exchange vows.

It’s been ten years, and I can’t wait to see what the years to come will bring.


End file.
